


Hey there, neighbour.

by Brackish



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: A little bit of angst in chapter 9?, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, As in she takes care of Lexa when she gets sick, Awkwardness, By American laws, Caretaker Clarke, Caught in the Act, Clexa, Clexa Endgame, Comfort, Cooking, Date Night, Don't mess with her girl Lexa, Drunken Shenanigans, Excitement, F/F, Feeble Titus, Flower shopping, Flowers, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Fuccboi Finn, Generally plotless, Get outta here Finn, Goofy dorks, Grocery Shopping, Hugs, Humor, Kisses, Lexa/Clarke - Freeform, Light-Hearted, Minor Violence, Neighbors, Ngaw, Romance, Secret Nerd Lexa, Sick and comfort, Slow Burn, Smooth!Anya, Strangers to Friends, Strangers to Lovers, Take no shit Lexa, Technically Under-age Drinking, The slowest, Tough MF Lexa, aesthetic appreciation, but the sadness is all in the past, clarke/lexa - Freeform, date knight, great now there's angst in chapter 10 too, i lied about the happiness part, masturbation reference, nothing but happiness, slightly nsfw, smooches, wonderment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 67,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6534310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brackish/pseuds/Brackish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke's new apartment is pretty generous, gorgeous kitchen, accommodating lounge, and comfortable bedroom. The neighbour across the hall isn't too bad either... if only she could work out a way to break the ice? </p><p>Light-hearted, fluffy, hopefully comedic. Nothing too deep, just happy goofballs in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lockout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first week of living in a new apartment, and Clarke's already managed to lock herself out. Hopefully nobody sees her, awkwardly sitting around in the hallway, waiting for Raven to come over and help her break into her own apartment.
> 
> Because that would be awkward.  
> Especially not her neighbour, who Clarke will absolutely not admit she has a crush on.  
> Because that'd be very embarrassing indeed.

"...Oh." 

Clarke's stomach flips several times before settling down in the uncomfortable region between horrified and nauseating. A groan slips from her lips, turning quickly into a low, frustrated growl. She gazes up to the ceiling, eyes shut and jaw clenched, praying that she isn’t -

But she is.

_Brilliant._

She pats down her pockets again. Maybe she missed them, overlooked them in the _cavernous_ depths of her jeans, among the mess of headphone cables and loose change, her wallet bursting at the seam and her phone, taking twice as much prime pocket real-estate because of her novelty milkshake shaped phone-case. 

Except the novelty isn't really doing anything for amusing Clarke right now, who surrenders the situation after a second searching of her pockets. She sighs heavily, thumping her forehead against her front door. 

Yup. 

She's locked out. 

_Fucking brilliant. Think, Griffin, think._

Breaking the door down is definitely out of the question. Besides forfeiting her bond, the noise would probably alert some of her fellow residents, and she  _really_  didn't want to have to deal with that at close-to-midnight on a Sunday evening. The windows aren't going to be an option either; Clarke lives on the third-floor, and doesn't much fancy ending the evening as a pavement pancake if she were to slip. 

She could try the landlord, but unfortunately she doesn't have the number saved into her phone, and the little piece of paper holding that piece of vital information is resting on the counter-top, inside the apartment. 

 _Fuck my laziness._  Clarke ponders for a moment why her mind jumped to two somewhat illegal options, before even beginning to consider what many people might think was the first, and logical, course of action. 

She snaps out of her daydream, and sighs. She's going to have to take a loss. She pulls her phone from her pocket, milkshake case and all, and dials a number. 

It rings for all of a minute, before going to an answering machine. Clarke swears loudly, and dials the number again, her feet tapping impatiently against the doorframe. The charm of the hallway has rapidly deteriorated. It smells like grease and oil. Her apartment also smells like grease and oil, but that was  _her_  apartment's smell of grease and oil. This was wild grease and oil smell.

And that made her impatient. 

On the second call, the phone picks up a second before it goes to the answering machine, and Clarke opens with another swear. 

" ** _Motherfucker_** _._ " 

Raven laughs from the other side. "Woah there. If I had known you were going to be like  _that,_  I wouldn't have picked up." 

Clarke responds with a fatigued, exasperated sigh. Raven laughs a little louder, but her next words are sympathetic. 

"Okay,  Clarke - who, or what is the motherfucker, and what do I need to do about it?" 

Clarke rubs the spot on her forehead that she thumped against the door. It aches a little. 

"Firstly,  _you're_  a motherfucker for not picking up on the first call. Secondly, this apartment is a motherfucker for smelling like absolute crap.” She knows Raven can’t see her gestures, but she points a finger menacingly at the door anyway. The door has the audacity to stay silent in the face of accusation. “Thirdly, my door is a motherfucker for being locked, and," Clarke pauses, sighing loudly. She knows Raven's put it together by now, and she can just imagine the grin on her face. 

The knowing, smarmy, snide,  _Oh-is-that-right?_  grin that Raven has, when she knows she's got the upper hand on. Clarke pauses again, taking a deep breath. 

"- and I'm the _biggest_ motherfucker, for locking myself out of my apartment."

Raven roars in triumph, sending Clarke reeling away from her phone as cheers and whooping laughter bursts through. 

"I _knew_ it!" Raven yells. "Octavia's going to pay up and - oh my _god_ , it's going to be  _so_  sweet, she - she said within the first  _month,_  but I said _no_ , do you remember all the times when Clarke locked herself out in college? No, she's  _definitely_ going to do it in the first  _week_  and-"

Clarke whistles into her phone, loudly. She knows how much Raven hates it, and Clarke can't help but feel the corners of her mouth curl up slightly when Raven's celebrations are immediately replaced with a painful groan. 

"Raven," Clarke can't help but sound a little terse, perhaps curt right now. "Please bring your tools so I can get into my apartment and sleep? Pretty please?"

"Ugh," Raven whines. "Why don't you just call a locksmith?" Clarke can hear the shuffling of bed sheets - she'd feel bad for Raven, if she hadn't apparently  _bet on Clarke's incompetence._

"At midnight?" Clarke tries again. "C'mon Raven, I need to get into my apartment. I need a change of clothes, and I need to pee, and -" 

"Fine, shit. Give me like, fifteen minutes or something to get over there." 

Clarke grins. "Thank yoooou, you're the best!" Clarke Griffin's singsong voice is heard rarely, but always disingenuously. 

Raven groans again, before ending the call promptly. Clarke stuffs her phone back in her trouser pocket, tapping her fingers against her leg impatiently. 

 _Okay, Griffin, time to kill time._ Clarke snickers at her own pun. She yawns, stretching, running her hands through her hair, grimacing slightly as her fingers snag around knots in her blonde locks. She could take a nap, but the ground doesn't exactly look like the most comfortable sleeping arrangement.

Clarke glances down the hallway. It's not  _too_ bad of an apartment - it's clear that the landlord has made some efforts to spruce up the place and make it more homely. A long carpet runs down the centre of the straight hallway, and plants flank either side of the elevator at the end. Her apartment is at the other end of the hall fortunately, so it's not like anybody will walk past her and wonder what she’s doing standing idly in the hallway. Her eyes run over the numbers adorning the other doors in the hallway, little brass digits that look like they've been taken from somewhere else, each set wildly different to the next. Clarke doesn't mind; it's characterful. 

Really, it's not really likely anyone else is going to be out and about at midnight on a Sunday anyway. For that, Clarke was thankful - making awkward small-talk with the people in her building was usually bearable, save for a few crazies and over-sharers that she had to ride the elevator with now and then, but she could barely deal with the image of having to explain how much of a  _ditz_ she was to some forty-year-old business something-or-rather, who would give her tips on  _how to remember to bring her keys,_  and  _maybe she should consider having a spare, just to give to a neighbour?_

_Ugh._

Her gaze falls upon the door that stands opposite to hers. She hasn't had the chance to meet her own neighbour yet, and to be honest, Clarke isn't really sure if they even exist. Clarke had gone around the morning she moved in, knocking the door with one hand, a muffin from the welcome-basket her mother had sent her in the other, but there was no answer. She knocked again in the afternoon, and still there was no answer. After that, Clarke just figured that it was either a ghost, uninhabited, or perhaps they just weren't interested in meeting. Clarke didn't really care which it was. 

Now, with nothing else to do, she stood in front of her neighbour's door again, knuckles rasping against the heavy wood, the dull echo reverberating down the empty hallway. Clarke paused, listening intently for any sounds betraying the apartment's inhabitants, but there was no reply.

Clarke sighed.  _Well, that's that then. It's a ghost._

"Excuse me-"

"A- _ah!_ "Clarke jumped at a voice behind her, whirling around. " _Shit!_ " 

In her shock, Clarke nearly bowled over the stranger standing behind her, who despite seeming fairly unamused with Clarke's reaction, somehow maintained their cool in the face of a flying, screaming Clarke. 

She, and it was very clearly a she, wasn't too impressed, or at least that's what Clarke thought. There was an air of aloofness to her the way she carried herself, the long, beautifully curly brown hair, her leather jacket, her skin-tight jeans, and her black and white striped tee. Clarke would have made a snarky comment, but she didn't think the stranger would be too receptive to that.

To be fair, it was difficult to decipher what emotion the stranger was feeling at all. Her face seemed a perfectly uninterested canvas, a facade devoid of all emotion, save for a very mild... 

What was it? Boredom? Disinterest? Disgust? No, that would be a bit too strong. Perhaps it was intrigue. Her eyes were a marvellous green, but Clarke hadn't yet decided what shade to dub it. Lake green perhaps? No, there was something that said they'd be brighter in the light. Deep as pools, reflecting her own face, in such large eyes that shone - 

The stranger cleared her throat, shifting slightly uncomfortably. "Excuse me." She repeated, this time more commanding. She gestured to the door behind Clarke.  

 _Oh I'm staring._ Clarke felt a flush creep up the back of her neck. It took a moment for Clarke to realize that  _this_  must be the ghost of a neighbour that lived beside her. 

"Sorry!" She said, standing to a side. "Sorry about - uh, you know.  _Yelling_  at you." 

Clarke looked away, but she could feel a gaze burning into the side of her face, inquisitive and curious. 

"Who are you, and what do you want?" 

Clarke felt goosebumps prickle against her skin. The stranger's voice was lovely smooth, but the soft tone didn't relieve the accusatory subtext. 

"Sorry?" Clark said, turning back to the woman. The other tilted her head down, eyes narrowing. 

"You knocked," She said slowly, jerking a thumb to the door beside them. "On  _my_  door. What do you want?" 

"Oh, I just - I was just wondering, uh," Clarke cleared her throat, willing her mouth to  _relearn the fucking english language._ "I'm your new neighbour? I just wanted to, you know, introduce myself." 

The stranger lifted her hand to glance down to her wrist, a fancy leather watch ticking away. As she did, Clarke's eyes fell onto a bunch of letters held in the woman's grasp.

_L... Lexa. Huh._

"At ten past twelve at night?" 

Clarke made a mental note to stop drifting off. "Sorry?" 

Lexa's eyes narrowed. At least, that's what Clarke hoped her name was, and not someone else living in the same residence. Clarke didn't want anyone else to be living in the residence. To her, it seemed a perfectly lovely name, and very apropos. 

Lexa seemed less amused by the conversation. "You came to my door, at ten past midnight, to introduce yourself?" 

Clarke laughed. "Oh! Well, actually I locked myself out of  _my_  apartment," She said, jerking a thumb over her shoulder. "So I thought, hey, might as well, right?" 

Lexa's eyes narrowed. "Right." She paused again. Clarke wondered what was going on in Lexa's head every time she fell into one of these silences. Maybe she could read thoughts? Maybe she was mentally calculating how best to destroy her. 

Clarke's mental note to stop drifting off, had itself, drifted off. When her neighbour next spoke, it was softer, and drew Clarke out of her reverie like a whisper. 

"Lexa." 

"Pardon?" 

"My name is Lexa."

"Oh, right."  _Why  am I having so much trouble focusing._ "Clarke." 

"Nice to meet you." 

"Hm."

Clarke could swear she saw a curl of a smirk on Lexa's face. It felt mischievous, like throwing a pebble into a perfectly still lake, disrupting what could otherwise be a picturesque image. Clarke eyed Lexa's lips with uncertainty. 

"What?" Clarke said, after a moment's hesitation.

Lexa's visage softened, like she was looking at a lost puppy. "So, you locked yourself out? Are you  _that_  forgetful?" 

 _Um._  Clarke's face burned. "I mean, I didn't do it  _on purpose_ , it's just that - new place and everything, you know?"  

Lexa furrowed her brow. "No. I always remember to bring my things." 

Clarke pouted, her brow furrowed to glare at Lexa. In that moment, Clarke decided she had changed her mind, and didn't like Lexa very much, and yet she found it impossibly difficult to muster any resentment towards her. She scoffed, turning to face... well, nothing really. There wasn't much she could feign interest in, in the blank and unadorned hallway. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure why Lexa was even still talking to her. 

"Well, don't let me keep you." Clarke said, perhaps a little more coldly than she intended to. She stepped aside dramatically, bowing to signify her leave. It didn't have quite the intended effect, as Lexa simply stood, a bemused look upon her, before she shook her head, and stepped forward, hand rummaging in her pocket.

"What is your solution? Are you going to stay out here until morning?"

"No," Clarke pouted again, attempting her best at impudence. "My  _friend_  is coming over, and she'll help me in." 

Lexa nodded. "Right. Well, if you'd like, you can wait in my-"

Lexa froze, a chill rolling down her back. Clarke didn't quite catch it, but the tables had turned. 

 

***

 

_No. How could this be._

Lexa's hand balled into a fist in her pocket. She tried to remain calm, but frustration was quickly taking over her. 

 _I cannot believe this. Remain calm._ Her eyes glanced sideways to Clarke, swallowing slowly. 

She had always kept her arrangements the same. She never bought trousers unless they adequately fit all her personal effects, and Lexa had grown used to an organized structure for her inventory. Her wallet was  _always_ in her back pocket, and she had  _always_  made sure that it was never too full, so it would  _never_  cause any problems. Her phone was  _always_  in her right pocket, screen-side facing towards her and upside down, so whenever she needed to pull it out, it would be orientated the correct way. Headphones would be placed in a jacket pocket, neatly bundled in a leather band to make sure they  _never_  tangled, and her other jacket pocket would be used for any assorted items that she thought might come in handy. In this instance, it was a notepad, small enough to fit in her jacket, and a reliable pen. 

And her keys? Well, her keys would  _always_  be in the left pocket of her trousers, teeth facing up so they wouldn't cut the inside of her pockets. Except today, they weren't facing up. They weren't even facing down.

They were facing  _god-knows-where,_  but somewhere  _not in Lexa's pockets._

And just after she had  _joked_  about Clarke being forgetful. Lexa rarely  _joked,_  and just when she thought it was safe to do so, it backfired horribly. 

Thankfully, Clarke hadn't yet picked up on the issue.

"Wait in your... your place?" Clarke said, hesitantly. She gave a nervous laugh. "My friend will be here soon, actually and, uh, thanks, but... maybe another t-"

Lexa would have picked up on the change of tone, the slight blush that filled Clarke's cheeks, if she was not running through a thousand scenarios as to how best to proceed. 

"Yes." Was all she could muster. 

Clarke's voice was one of confusion. "Yes?" 

Lexa closed her eyes, cursing herself.  _What is going on._ Lexa wasn't ever used to being short-circuited. She was one for structure, for planning, and everything in her life either fell into place, or she organized it to make it so. Nothing caught her off-guard - she was prepared for everything.

And so when Lexa stumbled upon Clarke, locked out of her apartment, and offered her own until her friend arrived, only to find  _herself equally locked out_ , Lexa wasn't really quite sure what to do. 

It was different. 

It was chaos.

It was uncomfortable.

It made her  _blush._

Blushing was illegal in Lexa's mind. 

This is  _unacceptable._

And most of all, Lexa had no idea why on Earth any of this was happening. 

So, she gave up. She retired the logical component of her mind, and let instinct and impulse take over. 

 _That_  part of Lexa's mind had a million different ideas, most of them thriving off very strong emotions about the blonde woman who stood but a few feet away. Lexa felt a wave of heat wash over her as she explored a few of the ideas, before latching onto one of the safer actions. 

"I have to go." Lexa's instinct said. "It was nice meeting you." 

"Go? Go where - hey!" 

Lexa turned, and began walking back to the elevators, ignoring the confused shouting of the woman still standing at her door. She pressed the button, thankful the elevator was still on their floor, stepping in as soon as the doors opened. She still didn't glance up as the doors closed, and perhaps it was for the best. 

If she did, Lexa would have seen Clarke, barely containing a laugh, a look of confusion and amusement and adoration in her eyes, and Lexa may well have stepped back out of the elevator just to witness her, to simply admire her for a few more minutes. 

Instead she stared daggers into the carpet of the elevator, and waited for the doors to close and to make sure she was truly alone, before she breathed a sigh of relief, burying her face in her hands, and letting out a shaky but lifting laugh. 

"What on Earth..." Lexa muttered to herself, grinning. She was  _grinning,_  for fuck's sake. 

When the elevator reached the ground floor, Lexa made sure to compose herself before the doors opened. Another woman was waiting for the elevator, dark brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, dishevelled and and yawning, holding a large toolbox under one arm. 

Lexa nodded to her as she passed her, and paused. Unfortunately, instinct and impulse were still in control. 

"Wait," Lexa said, turning to the stranger. She ignored the look of confusion upon her face - there had been enough of those tonight, and if she tried to explain, Lexa thought there might be a chance she would second-guess what she was about to do. She pulled her notepad and pen from her jacket, and hurriedly jotted down a few digits. 

"When you get to your friend, can you give her this?" Lexa said, tearing the page from the notepad. 

"S-sure?" 

"Thank you. Have a good night." 

Lexa could barely contain her laugh, as she watched the elevator doors close, the look of bewilderment on its solitary inhabitant. 

When Lexa stepped out into the cold night air, she pulled her phone once again from her pocket, her free hand gripping the bridge of her nose as she dialed another number. 

"... Lexa? What's up? Are you okay?" 

"Yes, Anya."

"... Are you smiling?" Lexa should be surprised, but Anya always had a sense for these things. 

A short laugh escaped Lexa's lips. "Yes, Anya." She repeated. "And actually, no I'm not okay - I'm not okay at all." 

"Where are you Lexa? I'll be there in a moment." 

"No, wait - do you mind if I come over to yours? I locked myself out." 

"Oh." Anya breathed a sigh of relief. "Is that it?"

"No," Lexa paused, grinning into the night sky. "I have a new neighbour, and she's  _absolutely gorgeous_." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading ! More of a train of thought story rather than substance. i want to write longer fics though, so maybe stay tuned hmmmmmmmm??
> 
> Citriic.tumblr.com


	2. Groceries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke's new to the building and, after an awkward first encounter, is struggling to break the ice with her neighbor - who Raven insists just might have a crush on Clarke.
> 
> It's probably also not a good idea to get drunk while brainstorming icebreaker ideas that could potentially result in very embarrassing situations.

**Evening.**

Raven eyed Clarke with uncertainty. 

"It's been a few days now. You're not going to call her?" 

Clarke glances over to the fridge, where Lexa's hastily scribbled number is hanging next to a magnetic notepad for groceries. She shrugs, shuffling around in her kitchen, putting away the spoils from their trip to the supermarket into cupboards and shelves. Her kitchen was generous for the apartment, set into the corner beside the door and decorated with ceramics and woods, with an island and breakfast bar included. Clarke wasn’t much of a cook, but with utilities like these, she was definitely tempted to learn.  

"Uh, no. Why would I?" Clarke said, tucking away several jars of coffee into the corner of an overhead cupboard. "She lives next door - I can just  _go_  right over and say hey." 

Raven sat down at one of the stools by the breakfast bar, unscrewing the lid to a freshly bought jar of peanut butter. She plunged a silver spoon into its untouched, savory contents, and jammed the delicious morsel into her mouth.

" _Haf_ you g'n ov'r t-uh sae  _hey_  y't?" 

Clarke waved a bunch of bananas menacingly. "Don't talk with your mouth full." She sighed. "And not yet. S'like, what am I even going to say? We've met already, so there's no real reason for me to go over there..." 

Raven rolled her eyes, swallowing the partially savoured lump of peanut butter. 

"Please." She said, clearing her throat. "Are we  _really_  going to play this game?" 

Clarke turned to the cupboards once more, busying herself with her groceries, hoping Raven didn't notice the blush sneak into her cheeks. 

"What game?" She said, sheepishly.  

Raven stared daggers into the back of Clarke’s head. "Ugh, don't make me say it, Clarke. You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

Clarke cleared her throat, hoping to remain an air of nonchalant relax. She had given up the façade of putting away groceries at this point, and had resolved to avoid Raven’s gaze, and simply idle blankly facing the kitchen wall.

“Say what?” Clarke said, perhaps a little too high-pitched.

Raven stared at Clarke, momentarily frozen with an unimpressed look across her face, before screwing the jar of peanut butter shut, shaking her head.

“Unbelievable.” Raven said, throwing her spoon across the kitchen. Clark jumped as it landed in the sink, rattling loudly. Raven clapped her hands to make sure Clarke was paying attention, and when she spoke, it was with unmistakable confidence in her words.

“Alright, listen up  _Princess_ , because  _I know_ that you know this already. Shit, I’m pretty sure  _you_ know, that I know that  _you_  know this. You’re not an  _idiot_ , as much as we tease anyway, so you’ve probably figured it out. I’m not saying this to reveal any new information to anyone in this room, I’m just saying it so that you can’t  _deny_  that  _you_  know this, got it?”

“Raven, I-“

“ _She’s totally crushing on you, Princess._ ”

Clarke spun around, scrunching her face up into a look of ridicule and disbelief, one that even she knew wasn’t going to be convincing.

“What!” Clarke said, faux-incredulously. She spluttered, as if the very notion was absurd. “No way - that’s  _craaazy_.”

Raven slapped the bench top in frustration, as Clarke hurriedly found two bottles of milk, giving her an excuse to dart out of reach of Raven’s fury and busy herself with putting them away. Still, what ensued was a yelling match between both parties, one shouting from across the room, the other shouting directly into the fridge.

“Holy shit, Clarke, can you mentally graduate for a moment and accept –“

“No way, Raven, have you seen her? She’s so-“

“-That maybe, _just maybe_ , there’s a super attractive, totally  _bomb_  chick who might be into you-“

“-No, no, no, she’s sooo out of my reach, are you kidding me, she’s-“

“-And you know what? She lives, _right next door_ , literally-“

“-It was probably just for  _emergencies_  or something like that, not-“

“-She’s  _literally the girl-next-door Clarke,_  for fuck’s sake-“

“-Raven, I’m serious! She’s just – you’re totally –“

“- _Next door! Literally! You’re living a porno-“_

_“-No, Raven, I-“_

_“-Clarke-!”_

_Knock knock._

They froze, mid pose, pointed eyes and gritted teeth and scowling glares and angry, furious gestures. Clarke waves Raven down as she walks over to the door, giving her the familiar,  _we’re-done-this-conversation-is-over_ , while Raven frantically returns with a  _oh-no-way-bitch-to-be-continued_.

Clarke runs her fingers through her hair, flattening down her shirt as she stands before the door. She’s not  _quite_  sure why she’s doing this, after all she’s simply answering the door. But her heart suddenly feels a little light, and her hands are remarkably sweaty, and very little of this makes any sense to her because she’s  _just opening the door_ , right? Just seeing who could be on the other side of the door, as Clarke turns the knob, and –

“Oh,” Clarke swallows heavily, but she doesn’t realize it. “Hey, Lexa.”

Lexa nods a greeting. “Clarke.”

And for the slightest moment, Clarke thinks that Raven might be right.

Lexa looks like she’s just come home from work, dressed in heels and trousers that make her look much, much taller. She wears a white tucked blouse, and a sharp, navy coat that falls to her knees.

And Clarke can’t help but notice, as her eyes finally finish combing her neighbor's attire, that Lexa’s gaze has been doing very much the same thing. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Lexa meets Clarke’s eyes a second after she does.

Mentally, Clarke adds,  _The slightest and most adorable little smile of embarrassment_ , to accessories that Lexa can totally pull off any day of the week.

Lexa opens her mouth to speak, but hesitates. Clarke tilts her head, and she can swear she sees Lexa swallow the words on the tip of her tongue, and instead say -

“I heard… shouting. Is everything okay?”

Clarke burns bright read, but Raven leans across from her seat at the breakfast bar, waving wildly.

“Hey, Lexa!”

A look of understanding washes over Lexa’s face. “Ah,” She glances back to her own door. “Well, that’s all, I just… wanted to check everything was okay.”

Clarke nods, but can’t help but be distracted by Lexa’s hand as she traces the line of her jacket, idly rolling a button across the tips of her fingers. Her gaze follows for a second, before spying Lexa’s other hand, holding onto a small white gift-bag, the neck of a bottle peaking out.

 _What’s…_ “Lex-“

“So, Cl-“

Both stop, as soon as they start talking over each other. Clarke shakes her head, and motions for Lexa to continue.

But all Lexa manages is a brief, “So, have a pleasant evening.”

Clarke nods, as Lexa returns the gesture, and turns to face her own apartment. Clarke wants to say  _something,_ but there’s a clear lack of communication between her mouth and her brain right now. It’s only when Lexa begins rummaging for her keys, when Clarke finally blurts out –

“Lexa.”

Lexa turns, deep green eyes glancing back towards Clarke. She pauses, the words struggling to form from her mouth. Lexa tilts her head slightly to the side, waiting for Clarke to follow up her name, but at that moment, the only thing running through Clarke’s mind was -

 _Ah,_   ** _shit_. ** _I’ve gone and gotten myself lost again._

Clarke’s not usually one to be caught off-guard. She’s not really one to be stumped either. Clarke likes to pride herself as being the diplomat, being able to diffuse situations and be the mediator in general, keeping a cool, calm exterior.

Nobody can faze Clark Griffin.

Lexa, in less than a week, has managed to faze Clarke Griffin.

Clarke’s brain cycles through her repository of automatic responses; those used when responding to cashiers or waitresses or people she bumps into on the street. Little quotes like, “ _Thanks_ ” or “ _You too_ ” or “ _Have a nice day_ ” or “ _Absolutely_.”

Clarke just hopes that she doesn’t make an ass of herself.

Clarke coughs. “Have a good… evening to you, too…  _you_.” She manages, wincing slightly as she hears the words leaving her mouth. She can’t quite focus at the moment, due to the fact that Clarke is mentally kicking her own  _ass_ , but if she were to look down she’d very probably find the time to regret the finger guns.

Lexa doesn’t say much, but to be fair not many people have a response for such an improvised farewell. She simply stands there, mouth slightly agape, brows raised curiously and hesitant, as if unsure whether or not she should prepare herself for another bout of  _what-the-fuck-is-Clarke-going-to-do-next?_

“Thanks.” Lexa finally says, and the world collectively releases the breath they were holding waiting for Lexa to break the tension.  She  nods a few times before turning away and hurriedly disappearing into her apartment, closing the door with a muffled  _bang._

Muffled, because as soon as Lexa turned away, Clarke did very much the same, and slammed the door behind her, leaning heavily against it, face in hands, sliding to sit in the entrance, cheeks flushed red and burning.

Clarke groans heavily, face scrunched with a sinking, impossibly heavy weight in her stomach. It takes a moment for Clarke to realize Raven is slow clapping.

“Fucking  _brilliant,_  Clarke. Really, you’ve outdone yourself.”

Clarke groans louder. Not too loudly though, because Lexa might come back over. Clarke honestly takes a mental moment to consider whether or not that plan would work, and furthermore, whether she’d  _want_  that plan to work or not. When Clarke replies, it’s more into her own palms, than directed at Raven.

“She had a bottle.”

“What’s up?”

“She had a bottle, Raven. Do you think it was like, a housewarming gift or something? For  _me?_  And I went and  _fucked it up._ How? Wha-“

Raven rummages around in the paper bags closest to her. “Something like this?”

Clarke looks up, and sees Raven waving a bottle of honey whiskey provocatively. Clarke pauses, face still flushed red and hesitant, before she leaps to her feet and tears the bottle from Raven’s hand. Honestly, if Raven was any closer, Clarke probably would have taken her arm off too.

“Christ, Clarke, take it easy, I was only jok-“

But Clarke already had the cap off, and pressed the bottle straight to her lips. Raven’s eyes widened as Clarke too a healthy  _gulp_  of the whiskey, giving a more genuine round of applause when Clarke finally lowered the bottle, face scrunched and gasping slightly at the burning sensation that rolled down her throat.

“Impressive, Griffin.” Raven said, resting an elbow on the breakfast bar. “You finally found a girl hot enough to justify your wild, reckless, and frankly stupid behavior.”

“Raven, are you going to lecture me, or are you going to join me.”

“Why not both? Give it here.”

 

**Meanwhile, In Lexa's Apartment...**

It's quiet in Lexa's apartment. A faint smell permeates the hallway, somewhere between the clinical cleanliness of a hospital and a candle shop, the subtle but noticeable scent of oils lingering within the darkened walls. The lights remain off, and Lexa has barely taken two steps into her apartment, clutching the gift bag tightly, knuckles white and eyes shut fast.

Lexa looses an sharp sigh, almost a hiss, as she flicks the light switch on. She exasperatedly kicks her heels off and marches down the hallway, only to return moments later to carefully store her shoes away in the nearby shelf, tut-ing to herself.

"Unbelievable." She mutters under her breath. "Get a hold of yourself, Lexa."

Her heart flutters in her chest as her mind wanders.

Nothing ever gets lost in Lexa's apartment. Her kitchen is carefully orientated for maximum efficiency in the mornings. Coffees, teas, and cereals line the walls closest to the kettle, and a bowl sporting a variety of nutritious fruits sits in the window that looks into the living room, which shares a similar level of intricate organization. The television clearly holds the focal point, a leather couch set snaking around the corner of the living room. A bookshelf hangs beside it, Lexa's personal collection of alphabetized literature proudly on display.

And despite all this organization, Lexa can't help but fall apart. She deposits her gift ungiven upon the kitchen bench-top, only to drag her feet across her living room, flopping down upon the leather couch and sprawling out under her mess of wavy hair, groaning muffled as she drags her phone from her pocket, speed dialing-

"Anya." Lexa drawls, still muffled against the seat of the couch. " _Anya._ "

Anya's laugh bursts from the receiver. " _Christ_. So you got into _your_ apartment this time, but you didn't get into  _her_  apartment."

"I didn't even give her the _effing_ wine."

" _Wow_." Lexa didn't appreciate Anya's dry tone; she knew the mockery was coming. "What, did it not come up organically in the conversation? _Hello, I bought you some wine but forget that because you've fucked me up to the point where I can't_ -"

"Anya, it wasn't-"

"Honestly, Lexa, what's the point of an icebreaker if it doesn't break the goddamn ice?"

Lexa rolled over onto her back, her voice coming through clearly.

"She had company, Anya," Lexa said, rubbing her eyes. "I think they were arguing or something, so I just _left._ "

"Could have been an opportunity to swoop in and save the day."

"What, against a fight with her friends? Yeah, _that'll_ do it."

"Well, that'll get you in with her friends at least. That could work."

Lexa lips curled down, the way they always did when she was considering an idea.

"True." Lexa said. She paused, waiting for Anya to reply. When she didn't, she hopped off the couch, checking the screen to see if Anya had hung up.

"Anya?" She muttered, shuffling towards the bathroom. "Are you still there?"

"Oh, barely. I got bored of this whole, _will-they-won't-they_ arc you're having with your neighbor."

Lexa rolled her eyes, her shoulders dropping. "Goodbye, Anya."

Anya snorted. "Anytime."

 

**Sometime Later In The Evening.**

At that moment in Clarke Griffin's apartment, you might have been able to get drunk simply by breathing the air for long enough. Clarke and Raven had always had an impressive amount of tolerance for alcohol, so to see _both_ of them drunk at the same time was probably a sign that the end of days were shortly arriving. But before they could drink themselves sick, Clarke stumbled into the kitchen, only to be greeted by a series of empty bottles.

"We're out... _already_?!"

"Put it on the list!" Raven cried from the lounge.

"What list?"

"Your _grocery list thing,_ on the fridge, Clarke."

"Oh. Riiight."

Clarke snatched the notepad and pen off the fridge, steadying herself for a moment before she put pen to paper, focusing more in that moment than she had ever done in her life.

"More... Booze. Anything else?"

"Chips. Those... Those sweet-potato ones."

"Trying t'stay healthy?"

"Fuck _yeah_. Gotta get that beach bod somehow."

"Okay, okay. Chips..."

"And chocolates."

"Choc... chocs."

"And an _aubergine._ I want to finally find out what the _fuck_ it is."

"I think it's an _eggplant_ , raven."  

"Fuuuuck that, I _hate_ eggplant." Raven muttered. She paused, contemplative, before adding one more request. "And some flowers, or some sappy shit like that."

Clarke was halfway through writing before she paused, squinting at a half-finished _flowez_ , before she yelled back, "What for?"

"Soooo, so you can give them to _Lexa_ when you ask her on a _date._ "

"Ugh, this again?" Clarke said, rolling her eyes. The act made her dizzy. "Date?"

"Yeah! She's cute, don't you think? And she _totally_  digs you."  

Clarke groaned. She didn't have the energy, nor the mental fortitude to fight Raven on this. Again.

"Look, she's _cute_!" Clarke slurred, managing chunks of sentences between hiccups. "She's... _She's_ cute, I'll give her that, but she's _frosty_ , Raven."

Raven laughed, sprawled out along Clarke's couch, grinning absently into the ceiling.

"Frosty is a damn good upgrade from _nothing,_ Griffin."

"Griffin?" Clarke blinked, eyes narrowing to glare at Raven. "You haven't called me _that_ in a while."

Raven blew a raspberry in response. " _Whatever_. Look, talk to her, get to know her at _least._ She's your fuggin' neighbor - you might as well be on _good_ terms."

"And how," Clarke said, yelling into the lounge. "How - _How_ am I supposed t'do that?"

Raven leaned over to rap her knuckles against the coffee table. "Something like; Helloooo, I'm your hot neighbor Clarke Griffin _,_ that's _Griffin -_ like the mythical beast? Speaking of mythical beasts, my prowess in the _bed_ is near mythical, and oh what a _beast I am..."_

Clarke snorted. "Yeah, that'll probably get me _evicted_ and put on a list somewhere."

Raven's response was a loud snore. Clarke, leaning heavily against the kitchen wall for support, stared aimlessly at the sight of her friend, sprawled like a tossed rag-doll across her couch. Even now, she was impressed at the ease by which Raven could go from awake to asleep in such a short amount of time. 

But, she  _had_ given Clarke an idea. 

 _Maybe I **should**_ _tell Lexa that she's cute. She'd... She'd like that._

In her mind, Clarke played a little pantomime production, whereupon a she marched confidently across the hallway, knocking dramatically upon the door. It would swing open, and a swooning, damsel-fied Lexa stared quizzically, yet breathlessly upon Clarke, who would recite sweet poetry upon Lexa's dainty ears.

Except Clarke never was much for poetry though. She glanced down at the notepad and pen warily, a small portion of her consciousness pondering if this was a good idea or not.

As she tore the grocery list off and put pen to blank page, the rest of her consciousness thought it was _a bloody brilliant idea_.

  

**Even Deeper Into The Night.**

"Come on... Stupid... Shitty... Noooo, don't crumple..."

If a sober Clarke were in the hallway, she would have probably given up a few minutes ago. Then again, a sober Clarke would not be found in the hallway well past midnight, trying and failing to slide a steadily crumpling piece of paper underneath a closed door.

It had taken a drunken brainstorming session, several discarded drafts, a one-sided discussion with a sleeping Raven, and a five minute break resulting in a half-eaten piece of toast, for Clarke Griffin to conjure up what she imagined at the time, to be the most romantic and swoon-worthy piece of literature known to man.  

She had held it into the light for a full five minutes, staring at her writing and her words to ensure that no meaning would be lost, before she pulled on her jacket _backwards_ , and stumbled into the hallway to deliver the missive, all the while silently cursing her clumsiness _and_ shushing herself to be quiet.

And of course, muttered words of encouragement to herself. Even in her stupor, Clarke could feel the tingles of anxiety tremble through her veins, her heart thumping wildly at the thought of Lexa's reaction.

"Oh, she's going to _love_ i **-t**." Clarke muttered, belching loudly. "How could she not? I love it, and I love _her,_ so like, if she doesn't like it, what's her _fucking_ deal?"

Clarke didn't have time to pause and reflect upon the weight of her words. Focusing too heavily at the task at hand, she couldn't say for certain how long she had spent crouched in the hallway, but then again, at the time her grip on reality was tenuous at best. 

Raven had tried to explain the subjectivity of time to Clarke one night, many nights ago, after watching a few episodes of Cosmos. You see, Clarke, time is a very funny thing. Interpretation of time is already fairly subjective - what may feel like ages for one person, may be a brief pause for another. Even standard measurements of time, like hours, minutes, seconds, are all felt and interpreted differently from person to person. For example, Clarke felt like she had only been outside Lexa's door for a few minutes, diligently and quietly fiddling around with her note at the gap under Lexa's door. 

For Lexa, it sounded like a dog had been repeatedly headbutting her door for hours. Eventually, she decided she couldn't stand it a second longer - She punched her pillow to wake herself up, bundled herself up in her sheets, and shuffled through her apartment to the door to see what the commotion was about.

As she approached the door, she could see the shadows flickering from the light in the hallway in the gap beneath the door, the rustling of paper and the subtle, quiet swears of a familiar voice. Lexa gazed through the peephole, but whoever or _whatever_ it was, was just out of sight.

She cracked the door open cautiously, but opened it wider, eyes blinking away the sleep, a look of concern etched into her face as she saw-

"Clarke?" Lexa murmured sleepily. "What are... What are you doing up so late? Are you okay?"

It's hard to say exactly who was more surprised, but to be fair, Lexa was probably the one to actually _remember_ most of the night. Clarke almost fell over upon seeing the door open. She bolted to her feet, color draining from her face. She tugged at her backwards-jacket, running one hand through her disheveled hair, the other clutching the almost-destroyed scrap of paper.

"I- uh," Clarke said, clearing her throat. "Paper. Um..."

Lexa leaned against her door-frame, pulling her sheets tighter around her. She eyed Clarke up and down - if it had been anyone else, she would have called the cops, but for _Clarke..._ Well, she could give her a little bit of patience.

_Not because she looks adorable with her coat on backwards, and not because I like the way her hair looks all wild, and not because she's staring at me with those big eyes-_

"Here," Clarke said suddenly, shoving the scrap of paper into the grip where Lexa's hands clutched the sheets together. Lexa paused, glancing down at the scrap, before loosing a hand to pluck the paper to light, glancing down at the words scrawled in horrible, barely legible writing, that read -

 _Wait._ Clarke's mind raced. 

"More... Booze?" Lexa said, glancing up at Clarke, before reading the next line.

 _Waaaait._ _I don't remember rhyming anything with booze._

Lexa furrowed her brow, struggling to decipher the text "Chips... Choc... Chocolate? What does this say..."

_Nope, definitely didn't write anything about chocolate._

"Oh." Clarke whispered, catching on.

_Oh no._

"Clarke, is this a grocery list?" Lexa yawned, eyes blinking away tears. "Why are you giving me a grocery list?"

"Um." Clarke rummaged through her emergency responses, but they seemed to have taken off for the night. So, in the end, all she managed was a, "Thought you might like it? G'night." Before turning around, and practically blitzing back into her apartment, near slamming into the wall as she did.

Lexa froze, eyeing the now-shut door to Clarke Griffin's apartment, a confused and sleepy smile on her face. She tugged the sheets tighter around her and folded the scrawled note away, before shuffling back into her own abode and the comfort of her bed.

 

 **And Moments After That...**   

"Raaaaven." Clarke whimpered, gently shaking her unconscious companion to a state of slightly-awake. "She - I fucked _up._ I gave her the _grocery list._ "

"That's okay, Clarke," Raven mumbled, her half-conscious mind choosing it's priorities carefully. "I remember what we need to buy anyway, so it's okay."

Clarke slumped beside Raven, curling into her warmth. "Okay, that's good then." She said, fatigue washing her of her concerns. An Idea popped into her mind. "Maybe I can go shopping with Lexa tomorrow, then."

"Yes, okay." Raven mumbled sleepily. "Is that all, Clarke?"

Clarke had closed her eyes, thinking. Already, she had forgotten what had just happened, and surrendered to the comfort of the couch.

"Mhm, I think so. Do you think she'll mind?"

"Probably not."

"Okay, that's good."

"Good."

"Good."

It wasn't much of a plan, as the idea faded from her memory as quickly as Clarke's consciousness did. 

Lexa would remember, though. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a merger! a continuation! 
> 
> I think i might continue these when i have the time !  
> i really really really enjoy writing light-hearted stuff, and intend to keep things surface level and bright . if you're looking for fics exploring deeper themes, might i suggest "When love becomes the reason" by clarkesquad, or "Lovers in low light" by chrmdpoet?
> 
> Also - i saw this prompt on tumblr but didn't save the user who had it???? if you find it let me know pls !
> 
> p.s.s shoutout to TheNosebleedEffect and sleeptillmay for your lovely comments on the standalone Groceries who will have their comments thrown into the abyss when i delete groceries to clean all of this up :'(


	3. Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke deals with the fallout of her drunken revelry, but it turns out better than expected. Lexa receives some much needed encouragement from Anya.

**The Following Morning**

The best laid plans of mice and men, aren't much use if immediately forgotten. In her many years of being alive, few were the times when Clarke had felt more dead.  

"Holy shit."

Clarke groaned, rubbing her temples. Her entire body felt... displaced. Scattered, like her head was rolling around the room, her body lost somewhere in the ether, her arms and legs trapped under a mountain of bricks, numb from her awkward sleeping position. She tried to move, and felt her stomach fall out in a moment of horror as she felt another's limbs stir beneath her.

Raven groaned, trying to roll out from under the weight of Clarke's body.

"...Geddof." Raven mumbled, shoving Clarke to the side. Clarke retorted with a grunt, trying to bump Raven into submission with her hips, only to give up almost instantaneously after fatigue set into her bones.

Her mouth felt like a carpet, but tasted like a doormat. Her brain struggled to form any other thoughts except **die** and, to a lesser extent, _shower_. Both were convincing arguments – on one hand, a shower would leave her clean and fresh, but death didn't require her to get off the couch. Still, morning had broken into the apartment, and the sun had taken up the annoying act of finding the exact gaps in the windows to shine straight onto Clarke's face. She most certainly did not approve, and soon was grumbling herself into a sitting position, taking in the apartment.

Fortunately, a two-person party doesn't really cause too much havoc. Everything seemed more or less in its place; a few bits of furniture were pushed around and some articles of clothing discarded here and there, but it wasn't anything a few minutes of tidying up couldn't fix.

All in all, Clarke was quite pleased with the evening, even if her head did thrum and shoot pain with every pulse. A weak smile on her face said that she certainly didn't remember anything about her neighbour.

Well, not until Raven reminded her later, anyway.

Somehow, and the details escape even herself, Clarke managed to haul herself from the tangled mess of flesh and blanket that was the couch, ignore a barrage of complaints from Raven, drag herself into her bathroom to turn her taps to the hottest setting a human could bear, and finally toss her ragged, lifeless body into the shower.

She must have fallen asleep in the shower, because the next thing she knew she was spluttering awake, fingers pruned, leaning against the cold tiles of the shower wall. Clarke rubbed her eyes through an aggravated growl, and decided to pull herself together and finish cleaning up before she dissolved in the downpour and escaped out through the drain.

And Clarke managed to enjoy a full six minutes of feeling fresh and clean and lovely, before feeling like absolute trash again.

By the time Clarke stepped out of the still-steaming bathroom, towel wrapped around her body, dripping a path to her closet, Raven had regained enough consciousness to sit herself up, burrito’d in her blankets, with tufts and strands of wild dark brown hair poking out in eccentric angles. Her eyes were bloodshot and squinting, and although she was struggling even to maintain her low level of consciousness, she was staring intently at a scrap of paper she had found beside her on the couch, attempting to decipher its words and clutching it very close to her face.

When Clarke re-entered the living room, half-dressed and patting her wet hair, Raven glanced up, a worried expression on her face, her voice breaking as she spoke.

"Hey." Raven managed weakly, glancing up at Clarke. "Did I try to write lyrics again?"

Clarke meandered around the living room, looking for her phone. "Hmm? What's up?"

Raven waved the scrap of paper. "I found... I dunno, looks like lyrics or something.” She glanced back down, furrowing her brow. “Really, really shitty ones."

_Oh._

_Oh, fuck._

Clarke felt a chill slip down the small of her back. She turned back to Raven, hands feverishly looking for something to hold on to.

"Oh god," Clarke said, breath still in her throat and eyes wide. "What does it say?"

Raven’s eyes flickered with uncertainty at Clarke. She had to admit, even in her dishevelled state, there was an adorable quality to Raven. Still, her words sunk like a rock in Clarke’s stomach.

Raven’s realization came with a grateful sigh of relief. "Oh thank god - you wrote this, didn't you?" Raven said, wiggling the scrap.

"Yeah, I think so," Clarke said, hesitantly. She winced, grimacing at Raven, who turned her attention back to the scrap. "How bad is it?"

Raven half-smirked, half-frowned. "I guess that makes sense. I was wondering why I would be writing about  _Lexa_ -“

Raven didn’t manage to get much more out of that, because at that moment, Clarke became overwhelmed with embarrassment, and crash tackled Raven back into the couch.

“Clarke-!” Raven yelled, tumbling in her blanket burrito state. “What the hell-!“

“Raven, give me that-“

“Ugh, no - get off! You’re gross and your hair’s all wet-“

“Please, you’re just as gross, just-“

The couch devolved into a flurry of fists and limbs, laughing and growling and grunting as the two struggled for supremacy. An impartial observer wouldn't be able to tell the two were friends, judging by the ferocity with which they fought. Still, in the end when final blow was dealt, Clarke lay helplessly on her stomach as Raven sat leaning on Clarke’s lower back, reciting to the empty apartment the rest of Clarke’s poem;

> _Lexy, you’re so sexy_
> 
> _I want to have u next to me_
> 
> _Hey lexa_
> 
> _Ur the besta_
> 
> _u live so close_
> 
> _but ur so far from my heart_
> 
> _I want to kiss ur face_
> 
> _So lets not waste_
> 
> _Any time_
> 
> _Pls be mine_
> 
> _Clarke g_

Raven snorted, immediately turning it into a wince of pain as her hangover shot through her attempt to express joy.

"Hah-oh, god...  Painkillers, Clarke, I require… **many**."

“No,” Clarke grumbled, red faced and muffled against the couch. “Fuck you.” She added.

Raven loosed a low whistle, rubbing her temple. “Rough. Not so poetic in the mornings, huh?”

“ _Raven_.”

Raven laughed a little quieter, patting Clarke on the shoulder. "Maybe, uh... Maybe it's best you didn't actually give her your little poem?"

Clarke grumbled something inaudible into the sheets. She didn't even struggle against Raven’s weight upon her anymore. She was limp, lifeless and –

Raven leaned over, resting her chin on Clarke’s shoulder.

“So, you like her, huh.”

Clarke grunted. “That’s the problem.”

 

** In Lexa’s apartment. **

“A what?”

Lexa rummaged around in her pocket for the scrap of paper, holding it up to the woman sitting beside her at her breakfast bar to examine.  

“Booze, number one item.” Anya laughed. “My kind of girl. Dammit – that would have been a perfect opportunity to give her the champagne!”

Lexa shot her a stare, but she could see the unopened gift, still sitting idly in her kitchen.

“No, Anya, I wasn't about to give an already drunk girl another bottle of alcohol.”

Anya shrugged, but agreed. “Fair enough. But at least you know you got her an appropriate gift.”

“Or inappropriate.” Lexa grimaced. “She could be an alcoholic.”

Anya almost coughed into her coffee. “Christ, Lex, you’re being very morbid this morning.”

Lexa shrugged. “Simply being realistic. Who stumbles to their neighbour at _that_ hour in the morning, drunk no less?”  

“Someone who’s desperately into you!” Anya jerked her thumb towards the apartment door. “That girl, she’s – this is probably a date request!”

Lexa raised an eyebrow, stirring a lump of sugar through her own cup.

“A grocery store date?”

Anya shrugged again. “Okay, maybe not. Maybe she was just drunk, and this is just drunken logic that we’ll never understand. But you know what? You've got _a lead._ You need to go grocery shopping anyway, so it’s practical, and you _love_ practical,” Lexa scowled, but Anya continued. “Just use it as an excuse to ask her to go grocery shopping with you! There’s _plenty_ of opportunity for innuendo, so that’s fun, and I mean, let’s be _real_ here Lex – You’re into this girl, so I'm betting you don’t care what it is as long as it’s with her, am I right?”

Lexa burned, her cheeks almost as hot as the coffee in her hands.

“What? No, I just-“

“Oh, right,” Anya said, slapping her forehead. “I guess that wasn't _you_ who called the other day, gushing about their _gorgeous_ neighbour?”

Lexa cursed her moment of weakness. “I – No, it’s just that – I mean _objectively_ –“

Anya burst into laughter, cutting off Lexa’s verbal spluttering, slapping the table and claiming the victory. Lexa gave up and rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hold back the smile that tugged at her lips. Anya had that effect on Lexa, being able to bring out happiness and exuberance in Lexa that nobody else could. Anya was chaos, dressed in a leather jacket and heavy biker boots, chains hanging from her ears underneath beautiful, dirty blonde hair, a copper-coloured septum piercing glinting above her teeth every time she threw Lexa a wicked grin.  

Anya was chaos, but chaos that Lexa allowed. She wasn't sure if she was ready for more chaos in the form of Clarke Griffin.

Lexa tugged at the sleeves of her sweater. It was a coldish day, not enough to warrant sweatpants, but enough to make a hot cup of coffee appear a thousand times more enticing.

“I mean, what am I even going to _wear?_  " Lexa said, when Anya finally wound down. "We’re going _grocery shopping_ … I can’t exactly use that as an excuse to get dressed up.”

Anya raised an eyebrow, flashing Lexa an inquisitive glare.

“Uh oh,” She said, leaning over towards Lexa. “Have I convinced you? Could it be?”

Lexa swatted at her companion, feeling the warmth spread across her face further.

“ _Hardly.”_ Lexa said impudently. “Like you said, I need to go grocery shopping, and I'm just asking if she needs anything or … wants to come along.” Lexa could see the holes in her argument, but _maybe,_ just _maybe_ if she didn't meet Anya’s eyes she could get away with pretending she was being aloof.

She knew Anya was staring into the side of her head as she struggled to avoid her gaze. She could see the knowing grin, and she _really_ didn't want to stroke Anya’s ego right now.

So, Lexa cleared her throat. “I'm just… being a good neighbour.”

Lexa jumped slightly as she felt Anya’s hand clap down on her shoulder. She couldn't help but turn and meet Anya's eyes.

But when she turned, the look on Anya’s face was less _I-fucking-knew-it_ , and more _you-are-being-so-adorable-right-now-I-might-just-scream_.

Lexa wasn't sure which one was worse.

Anya downed the dregs of her coffee, and dragged Lexa from the kitchen. 

"Alright, let's get you dressed up."

 

** A Little While Later, Back in Clarke’s Apartment… **

Clarke had to admit, she was slightly proud how quickly she recovered from her hangover. Dumping a box of empty bottles by the door, she clapped her hands together, taking in the rest of the apartment.

Clean, clear, under control. It would have been perfect if not for the lump of Raven that sat itself at Clarke’s breakfast table. Raven had been less than helpful, even after Clarke convinced Raven to use her shower. She had practically dressed Raven, pulling over an old t-shirt and sweatpants that Clarke found rummaging through her closet.

And when Clarke had begun tidying up the apartment, Raven had just shuffled from location to location to avoid Clarke’s cleaning spree, and finally found a place where she could wish for death in peace.

She couldn't be too upset about Raven; She wasn't a morning person on the best of days. Clarke glanced over to Raven's prosthetic propped up against the kitchen counter - she always did prefer getting around without it when she was at home or at Clarke's. 

“Raven,” Clarke said softly. “You can sleep in my bed, if you want.”

Raven grumbled.

Clarke laughed. “How are you still this hung-over? I thought we had the same amount.”

Again, Raven simply grumbled.

“Yeah, I know. I guess I'm just _that_ good.”

The third time, the grumbling came from Clarke’s stomach.

Raven raised her head, hands brushing aside a curtain of hair.

“Hungry, Griffin?” Raven’s voice sounded hoarse, straining from disuse.

Clarke grimaced. “Seems to be. Ugh, I don’t think there’s anything in the fridge. I guess we could order something. Chinese?”

“Indian.”

“Japanese.”

“Thai.”

“How about I cook something up, then?”

Raven shot Clarke a wild glare. “Don’t fuck with me Clarke, I'm hungry. D’you remember the last time you cooked for us?”

Clarke’s memory of the incident was muddled at best, but she did recall a lot of fire.

“Alright then, you get one final suggestion”

Raven waved a finger. “Burgers.”  

“Ooh, burgers.”

And with that the decision was made, but before they could fight over who made the trip out, a loud knocking came from Clarke’s door.

They shared a look, and eyed the door hesitantly. It was 2016 – nobody came over without calling anymore. Clarke tiptoed over to the peep-hole, quiet and surreptitious, as not to give away their presence.

She had to stifle a soft gasp as she gazed through.

Lexa stood on the other side of the door, glancing around nervously, fidgeting with the collar of a denim buttoned shirt, hanging over black leggings that clung tight to her toned legs. She wore thick-rimmed glasses that seemed to magnify her eyes several sizes larger, until Clarke was sure she had stared into some sort of sea-green maelstrom. Her deep-brown hair glowed blonde in the light of the hallway, tied back into a casual bun, a few loose strands escaping to fall effortlessly to frame her face.

“ _Raven!”_ Clarke hissed under her breath, hopping back and forth. “ _It’s her!”_

Raven shot back a confused look, shaking her head in confusion and gesturing a _what-the-fuck-are-you-talking-about-Clarke?_

Clarke pointed furiously at the door, mouthing her response. “ _Lexa! Neighbour!”_

Raven rolled her eyes, and hopped off the bench, limping her way over to the door. Clark slid to the side as quietly as she could, her body shaking with energy, letting Raven glance through the peep-hole.

Raven almost screamed.

_“What does she want?!”_

_“I don’t know?!”_

_“Maybe you gave her another poem instead?!”_

_“I didn't write another po- oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god.”_

_“What?”_

_“Go – Go!”_

_“What?! What the hell, Griffin!”_

Again, Clarke’s door shook with Lexa’s knocking, and there was no more time to be pretending that nobody was home. Clarke hurriedly shoved Raven nosily down the hallway and out of sight, much to Raven’s yelping dissatisfaction.

Moments later, Clarke returned to the door, heart thumping heavily in her chest and hastily flattening out her shirt, running a hand through her tangled and still-drying hair, as a thousand thoughts stampeded through her mind.

_Fuck, I guess I did give her something._

_The grocery list._

_Oh my fucking god._

Clarke fiddled with the lock for a second, before swinging the door open.

“Lexa! What a surprise!”

"Clarke, I - Are you not wearing _pants_?"

Clarke glanced down at herself, her legs stretching out from under her own oversized sweater she had grabbed when exiting the shower. She mentally cursed herself, feeling the heat boil around her ears, frantically thinking of something to say. 

"Uh, nope."  _Confidence, Clarke. The answer to all situations._ "I mean, I  _am_ in my own apartment." 

Lexa’s eyes ran down Clarke in one fluid motion, sending shivers crawling down Clarke’s back, squirming under her gaze. Lexa opened her mouth to let the tiniest, shuddering gasp escape, as if bewildered by the sight of her neighbour standing before her.

Or maybe it was just in Clarke’s imagination.

Finally, Lexa spoke, swallowing a small lump in her throat. “Clarke.” She repeated, nodding. “I hope you’re well? You seemed… to be enjoying yourself, last night.”

“Oh!” Clarke laughed, perhaps louder than she intended, waving her hand dismissively. “That – no, that was nothing! Just a few glasses of wine over dinner, that’s all.”

Lexa mouthed an _oh_ , nodding, but not quite believing. Clarke shifted stance uneasily, leaning against her door-frame, crossing her legs, uncrossing her legs, resting her hands on her hips, crossing her arms, leaning against the other door-frame…

Lexa watched her with curious gaze, as if unsure and deciding of Clarke was still drunk. There was the slightest look of amusement on her face, eyes glazing faintly over as if mesmerized by the image before her, and lost entirely in thought. Eventually Clarke settled on a stance, and crossed her arms, hoping her blush wasn't too visible.

“So,” Clarke said, clearing her throat. “What’s, uh… What can I help you with?”

Much to Clarke’s surprise, Lexa snapped out of a thought, emerging from her reverie. It was odd seeing her neighbour in a moment of softness, leaving a comfortable thought, seeing a brief window of a different person that she knew Lexa tried very much to hide from the public eye. It was endearing, charming.

Clarke wanted to see it a thousand more times, and a thousand more after that. Still, when Lexa spoke, it was the same, strong voice she had come to find intrinsic to her neighbour.

“Ah, well I was going to go over to Whole Foods, and I was wondering if… If you’d like to join me.”

Lexa’s eyes were unflinching, her jaw was sharp and teeth clenched. Her visage was raised just slightly, staring down Clarke over the length of her nose. It was every single sign of a power-play, more of a command than a request or inquiry, that would have made Clarke feel like she was in the middle of a business deal if not for the very, very visible sign of pink that crept up Lexa’s cheekbones, and the thin beads of sweat glistening upon her forehead.

Clarke couldn’t help but grin.

“I-uh, sure!” Clarke said. “Just give me a moment to grab my things.“

"And get dressed." Whispered Lexa. Clarke flashed an amused look, but Lexa herself looked even more surprised to hear the words coming from her mouth. 

"Yes. Well, that too." Clarke laughed. "And I'll need to check what I need-"

“Oh,” Lexa's eyes flashed in recollection. She fumbled with a pocket in her shirt, before pulling a crumpled piece of paper. “You gave me this last night. Is this not your grocery list?”

“Ah,” Clarke said, grinning sheepishly. “Well, yes – but I might need a few more things of substance…”

Suddenly, the whole situation didn't seem so embarrassing. She could, and wanted to laugh with Lexa, to crack the sky and see the smile, Lexa's smile, for her. In a moment, Clarke saw past the rigidity of her neighbour, the words, the posture, and it all endeared her to Clarke. In the stone, there was an etching of something softer, sweeter. 

A flicker of a smile passed over Lexa, before she nodded.

“I’ll wait for you in the garage. Come down when you’re ready.”

“Okay. I’ll be – just, a few minutes.”

Lexa nodded, and set off towards the elevator. Clarke watched her for a few seconds, before Lexa glanced over her shoulder, and Clarke dived back into her apartment to avoid Lexa catching her staring.

She almost bowled over Raven.

“Holy – what the hell, Clarke!”

“Excuse me? Were you eavesdropping on us?!” Clarke spat under her breath.  

“Yes! Of course I fucking was!” Raven punched Clarke in the arm playfully. "You guys are such fucking _dorks,_ oh my god I was  _gagging_ -"

"Look, I know, I know! Just... Just help me pick out something to wear." 

Raven whooped in delight. "Oh, this is going to be  _good._ "

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a few edits to chapter 2 to fit this chunk in - I like the idea of keeping the chapter lengths roughly the same as well. This chapter was going to include the actual trip to the grocery store, but I've got plans for expanding that moment into another one, so I thought I'd release this one first while I worked on that! 
> 
> how's that for vague? And yessss i do realize nothing happens in this chapter but the next will have a lot more ! (I hope)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated :)


	4. Rainclouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa go grocery shopping, and a bit of playful teasing lands Clarke in hot water. Meanwhile, Raven bumps into someone in the elevator.

**On The Way**

Clarke leaned against the passenger window, staring up at the grey clouds that filled the sky.

“I hope it doesn’t rain.”

“Do you not like the rain, Clarke?”

“Oh, well – I mean as long as I’m not in it, I don’t _mind_ the rain.”

“I see.” Lexa paused. “I find the rain calming.”

Clarke glanced over to Lexa, both hands firmly gripping the wheel and eyes focused dead ahead. She was rigid, but not tense. Clarke found it hard imagine that there existed a moment where Lexa wasn’t calm and in control. Still, an image swirled in Clarke’s mind, of Lexa sitting by her bedroom window, hair tied back and bundled up in wool and linen, cradling a steaming mug of coffee, content to watch the rain trickle drops down the glass pane.

And to Clarke, _**that** _ was calming. A smile tugged at her lips, and felt a soothing warmth wash over her. She could have easily attributed it to the comfortable leather seats, or the hot air of the air conditioning, or the sweater-button combo she had chosen to don, but she knew it was being close to Lexa, thinking about Lexa, that filled her with a quiet euphoria.

Clarke felt her heart sing complacently, when only yesterday Lexa had made it race and soar and leap. It was surreal and unexpected, to find someone so unique who could do both, such strange things to -

“Clarke?” Lexa said, glancing over to the passenger seat. “Is something wrong?”

“Hm?” Clarke hummed idly, still somewhat lost in her reverie.

“You’re staring.” Lexa smiled nervously, a tint of pink creeping into her cheeks. “What is it?”

“Oh.” Clarke cleared her throat. “It’s – uh, nothing.”

Clarke returned her gaze to the passenger side window, hiding a blushing smirk.

 

**At The Grocery Store**

_Remain calm, Lexa._

Though the trip to the grocery store was a short one, and one that Lexa usually walked, the threat of rain and the fact that they were shopping for two households was reason enough for Lexa to suggest they drive.

When they pulled into the parking lot, the clouds threatened to burst open at any moment. Lexa cursed under her breath for not bringing an umbrella, but Clarke assured her that if they were quick, then it wouldn’t be an issue.

If they were quick.

Bright lights greeted them as they stepped through the automatic doors. Fresh fruits and vegetables, all local produce, were the first things standing before them besides rows of shopping carts and a stack of baskets. Somewhere from deeper inside the store, the smell of freshly baking bread filled the air, dousing Lexa with a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Lexa grabbed a basket and handed it to Clarke. “Here.”

Clarke eyed the carts instead. “Why don’t we just grab a cart? It’ll be easier since we’ve got a lot to buy.”

Lexa paused, arm still outstretched and thrusting a basket towards Clarke. “But how will we organize the items? We do not live together, Clarke. It will be… _confusing_.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, grabbing a cart. “Lexa, we’re both adults. We’ll be able to separate our shopping. Besides, we literally live across the hall from each other. If we get something mixed up, you can just bring it over, you know?”

Lexa pouted in consideration. “I suppose that would be fine.” Lexa turned to replace the basket, but when she turned back, Clarke had already set off without her.  
“I – Clarke? Hey, hold up!”

When Lexa caught up to Clarke, she found her mewing over pre-packaged planter pots of roses and tulips just past the entrance.

Clarke held up a pot in each hand, beaming at Lexa. “Look at these! Five dollars each, or – oh my god buy one get one free? What a deal!”

“Flowers are not food, Clarke.” Lexa said, hands on her hips.

“Some flowers are.” Clarke replied, unfazed. “And besides, I haven’t had time to decorate my place. Here – I’ll get one,” She placed a pot of white roses into the cart. “And… ooh, these ones – you can have these ones, how about that?”

Clarke held out the other put, a blooming bunch of tulips. Lexa stared in amusement, not so much at the tulips, but at Clarke. At the look of earnestness in her eyes, at the way she lit up at the talk of flowers, at the genuine excitement and desire and care for Lexa’s opinion, and at the curl of her soft, pink lips as she smiled at Lexa – and it all does _**something**_. Something to Lexa, something that she wasn’t quite ready for, and it takes every ounce of strength in Lexa’s body to simply grab the pot, nod in agreement, and place it gently beside the other in the cart without falling to the floor and shattering into a thousand pieces.

_I am so fucking gay._

There were two things that occurred to Lexa as they began perusing the aisles of the store. The first was that Lexa wasn’t used to the company. Usually, she would have a plan in her head, a mental map of the route she would take between the aisles, the exact brand of each item, and leave as soon as she was done. With Clarke at her side, they spent nearly as much time as Lexa would in a whole trip, just in the fruits and vegetables section.

She was distracted, yet complacent.

And that, that was the second thing. It took a little more time for her to realize, but it eventually occurred to Lexa that she didn’t seem to mind at all. She didn’t care that she wasn’t being efficient. She didn’t care that she and Clarke were taking in every single article and item that was in store. Lexa didn’t mind that they were crawling at a snail’s pace, because she was with Clarke, and Clarke somehow made it all so easy.

She didn’t even mind Clarke’s mundane ramblings.

“What _really_ is the difference between a lemon and a lime, though?” Clarke chirped, holding each in her hands, staring at them intently. “They kinda smell the same.”  
“Limes are bitterer. Lemons are sourer-er…er.” Lexa replied, weighing a paper bag of mushrooms on a nearby scale. Satisfied with the exact quantity, she placed the bag neatly into the cart. Clarke shrugged, and threw a few lemons and limes in a bag, and did the same.

“So,” Clarke said, elbows leaning across the bars of the cart. “What do you do for a living?”

Lexa pondered the question, as they wheeled into the cereal aisle. “I manage technical content for a logistics firm.”

Clarke paused, stopping the cart at the top of the aisle. “You - what?”

Lexa laughed. **_Laughed_**. “I… I, uh – I’m a writer.” She said, slowly.

“Oh, that’s pretty cool.” Clarke said, eyeing the many rows of colourful packaging, disguising puffed balls of sugar and wheat. “So… have you written anything I’ve read?”

Lexa grabbed a box of sultana-bran-flakes. “I’m not that kind of writer, Clarke. I write for a company, mostly as an interface between their products and the consumer.”

“Oh.” Clarke hummed as she compared two boxes of chocolate cereals. “So no fantasy or sci-fi stories, huh?”

“Not particularly – not in a _while_ , anyway.”

“Wait,” Clarke said, dumping the extra-sugary cereals into the cart. “So – you used to write fiction?”

“Well, yes, I used to.” Lexa pulled their cart into the next aisle; sweets and potato chips. Usually Lexa bypassed this aisle completely, but she thought she might indulge herself a little.

Only a _little_ , and only for herself, of course. It wasn’t as if Lexa _wanted_ to see if Clarke wanted to get something sweet to eat. It wasn’t as if Lexa _wanted_ to see Clarke’s eyes light up at the sight of rows and rows of candies and chocolates.

It wasn’t as if Lexa smiled when Clarke smiled.

“What kind of stories did you write?” Clarke said, as she pulled bag after bag of gummy candies off the shelf.

_Oh no. This was a mistake._

“Uh,” Lexa watched apprehensively as their cart filled up. “Sci-fi, short stories, poetry, that sort of… you know, that – that sort of thing. I mean, I used to – _**Clarke** , that’s **far** too much_.”

“Hm?” Clarke turned to Lexa, four bags of gummy snakes in her hands. She glanced down to the cart – their other groceries had been covered by a landslide of candy, and even their flowers seemed to be struggling to stay pristine against the mass of sweets.

Clarke grudgingly agreed to scale back to just two bags of candy, a mock pout on her lips as they moved along. Lexa found it adorable.

They spoke of films after that. Lexa learned that Clarke had an appreciation for animated films, and was fond of the Ghibli films in particular. Lexa expressed that she watched animated films when she was a child, but as she grew older she drifted away from them. Clarke said she would mentally compile a list of _must-see’s_ that she would sit Lexa down one day and force her to watch.

When it came to speaking about shows, Clarke had binged on nearly every series in the last decade or so. Lexa herself found it difficult to get into television shows, usually finding enough problems within the first episode to drain her of interest for the remainder of the series. Her apartment had a shelf dedicated to box-sets her friends had given her, none of which she had never finished. Clarke added the Avatar series onto the list of things she would force Lexa to watch alongside the animated films, and spent the next twenty or so minutes rambling on about _OTP’s_. The whole thing flew over Lexa’s head.

 _Something about Korean salami_. Lexa glanced over to the deli section.

“And what about you?” Lexa asked, as they were looking over meats and seafood.

Clarke tore her gaze away from the cheeses. “Hm? What about me?”

“What do you do for a living?” Lexa repeated, as she accepted a bundled pack of deli meat over the counter.

“Oh,” Clarke said, pushing the cart along behind Lexa. “I’m an artist, as pretentious as _that_ sounds.”

Lexa stopped, placing a hand on the cart to stop Clarke in turn. “I do not think it is pretentious to say so.” Lexa nodded at Clarke respectfully. “All the creative arts should be revered.”

Anya had taught her that one. Clarke seemed to glow with appreciation. Lexa reminded herself to thank Anya the next time she saw her.

They continued making their way through the store, stopping here and there to fill their carts. Soon their grocery list became a feast of bits of everything; Breads and butters, milks and yoghurts and cheeses, frozen pastries and ice-creams and cakes. Most of it was Clarke’s impulse purchases, with a smaller selection of Lexa’s necessities, and some items that Clarke insisted that _“Lexa, you have to try this flavour, it’s fucking amazing.”_

How could Lexa say no to that face?

By the time they neared the checkout, their cart was an unwieldy mess of almost every section of the store. As Clarke struggled to turn elegantly around the corner towards the counters, they passed a small section for alcohol.

“Oh, Clarke.” Lexa waved her over. “Did you want to pick up something to drink? You had it on your grocery list.”

“Ah,” Clarke remarked dryly. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Technically you reminded me, Clarke.” Lexa said, as they perused bottle after bottle.

“You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

Lexa hummed. “I don’t think so.” Lexa toyed with her words. “What kind of person shows up past midnight, _**drunk no less**_ , and hands their neighbour a list of assorted groceries? Mostly junk food, at that.”

“Hey,” Clarke said impudently, waving a bottle of white wine. “Don’t judge me.”

Lexa studied a bottle of cider intently. “I’m not – I’m just saying that you need a balanced diet, Clarke.”

“I’m the epitome of health. I eat health all the time.”

“You _eat_ health?”

“He – healthy food. I eat _healthy_ , as in _healthy_ _food_ , Lexa. _Duh_.”

Lexa felt a smirk creeping up her cheeks. She could see she was getting under Clarke’s skin, even if the outrage was all smoke and mirrors and playful banter, she could sense a slight twang of annoyance in Clarke’s voice.

“I see.” Lexa couldn’t help herself – she was having _fun_. She waved at the shopping cart. “Well, so far, judging by what you’ve picked up I think I’d be pretty confident in calling you out on that.”

Clarke’s cheeks turned red. “Excuse me,” Clarke said, getting flustered, strands of blonde hair falling about her face. “If I knew I was going to get crucified for my _groceries_ I wouldn’t have come out today!”

Lexa laughed, shaking her head. “Relax, Clarke – I’m just joking.” She reached for a bottle of vodka. “There’s no shame in having to order take-out.”

“Hey, I can cook.” Clarke muttered, hands on her hips.

Lexa smiled in disbelief, brow raised. _“No way.”_

“Uh, _yes_ I can?” Clarke said.

It was childish, and Lexa knew it. Perhaps that was why it felt so liberating, so invigorating to chide and berate and tease Clarke, to get under her skin, as she had to Lexa. It came so natural, that she knew the buttons to push, the limits to reach for, and that Clarke would play along.

_Would she?_

“Okay then.” Lexa said slowly. “Prove it, then.”

“What?”

“Prove it.” Lexa replaced the bottle of vodka back onto the shelf, and turned to face Clarke, arms crossed over her chest. “Dinner, tonight. You’re cooking.”

Clarke gaped at Lexa, as if unhearing, her mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’.

“Oh, I – uh, t- _ **tonight**_ , did you say?” Clarke winced, faking a look of deep thought in what Lexa saw through as the most obvious attempt to try and escape the situation.

“Oh, I-I  _think_ – no, no I can’t do _**tonight,** _ I have – I’m going to, this, uh, this thing – “

Lexa raised an eyebrow, a look of feigned surprise on her face. “What’s that? Oh, that sounds like … _**excuses**_.”

“No, no, it’s just that – I mean, I just moved into my _apartment_ and all that, so I don’t exactly have any, uh… Utensils or, you know, pots and stuff like that –“

“No problem,” Lexa said calmly. _This is too easy_. “You can cook at mine. I’ve got everything you need.”

Clarke’s eyes flashed wide in disbelief for a second, before she cocked her head, a look of determination washing over her.

“Okay.” She said quietly. “Fine. Dinner. _**Tonight**_.”

Lexa grinned. “Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

Clarke looked visibly unnerved, but Lexa had to give her credit. She didn’t expect Clarke to stick to her guns – she needed to remember this for the future.

“Just – “ Clarke said, pulling a phone from her pocket. “Give me a moment. I need to grab a few things if I’m going to, you know – cook a _**five-star**_ gourmet meal and all that.”

Lexa laughed. “Take all the time you need! I’ll be waiting.”

As Clarke disappeared into the aisles, Lexa basked in her smug euphoria. It had been sometime since she had been so candid, so open with someone, other than Anya of course. It took a moment for Lexa’s high to settle, and for the familiar senses of logic and efficiency came seeping back.

And when it did, it gave her enough time to consider what had just happened. The smile slipped from her lips, and her heart began to pound.

_Did I just ask Clarke to dinner?_

Sort of.

 

**Meanwhile, back in Clarke and Lexa’s apartment building…**

_Oh **god,** I need something to eat. _

Whatever thought Raven had in her mind a moment ago was immediately banished by a low grumbling in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, and while she had initially managed to stave off the most of it by sleeping to wait for Clarke, her hunger had been steadily growing as the hours dragged on, it had only properly kicked in about 10 minutes ago.

It was almost too much to bear, but with pride intact she managed to drag herself out of Clarke’s apartment, hell-bent on finding the closest place she could legally ram an entire burrito into her mouth without it being reported as a public disturbance.

_This elevator needs to get here quicker._

Raven had cobbled herself an outfit of what loose garments she could find from Clarke’s wardrobe. A flannel, sleeves rolled up of course, and a pair of ripped jeans - Raven was more of a leather-jacket lesbian, but damned be anyone who said she didn't look good. Admittedly, her hair was a mess, but she could live with it.

The elevator dinged, and finally the heavy metal doors rolled open. Raven stepped inside for the _whatever_ -th time that week, and pressed the button for the ground floor.

A voice called from the hallway. “Hold up.”

Raven swore under her breath, and her stomach seemed to swear with her. Cursing whoever was keeping her from her meal, she stuck her arm out, holding the door open.

Her curses disappeared quickly, and for a moment she forgot how hungry she was – though suddenly she found herself very thirsty.

A tall, lithe woman stepped into the elevator beside her, dressed in leathers and denim, shaking loose the most strikingly handsome dirty-blonde undercut and tail. Clutching gloves in one hand, she pressed the button for the garage with the other.

_Okay. What the **hell**._

Raven did her best to scour the anonymous female with her peripherals, seeing sharp, unflinching eyes, cutting cheekbones, and piercings. Resting against her hips, she held a motorcycle helmet.

**_I gotta._ **

“Hey.” Raven said, with as smooth a voice as she could muster. “I’m Raven.”

The other glanced over, giving Raven a quick up-down, one that sent shivers down her spine, before giving a smirk.

“Anya.” She said, pulling a phone from her pocket.

 _Oh no, no way am I getting phone blocked._ Raven persisted.

“So, you live in this building, or…?”

“Just visiting a friend. _Was_ visiting a friend.”

“Nice, nice.” Raven cleared her throat, arms crossed. At that moment, the elevator dinged, arriving at the ground floor. Raven mentally cursed _herself_ this time, stepping out into the foyer, before turning around to flash Anya a wicked grin.

“So, I’m going to get something to eat. Want to join me?”

Anya looked up from her phone, a look of smug incredulousness across her face.

“Really?”

Raven burned. “Y-yeah.” She could feel the pout spread across her face. The elevator started to close, and once again Raven’s arm shot out, halting the doors. “A-and maybe after, we could go out for drinks?”

_Nice. Give’m the ol’ **Raven Reyes confidence.**_

A grin curled at the corners of Anya’s lips, not unkindly.

“Maybe another time,” Anya laughed. “Ask me again when you’re _old enough_ to buy me that drink.”

To this day, if anyone asked Raven what happened next, she’d shrug, make some nonsensical excuse, or change the subject immediately, but the memory would play back in her mind as clear as day.

Anya reached forward, caressing Raven’s arm with a few gentle, slender fingers, tugging her hand free of the door, only to bring it to her lips to place a soft peck across Raven’s knuckles. Raven’s arm shot back, where she stood red-faced and flustered, watching Anya contain a laugh while the elevator doors rolled shut.

“I - _hey_!” Raven exclaimed, banging a fist on the closed door. From inside, she could hear Anya laughing.

“ _I’ll see you around, Raven_!” Anya yelled from within the descending elevator.

Raven took a step back, and simply glared at the elevator for a minute, before chuckling quietly.

“Damnit.” She said under her breath. “Fucking damnit, she _got me._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going for a bit more of a warm, fluffy chapter here! A bit of rambling, a bit of mundane, always light, hopefully enjoyable to read! Comments are always appreciated :) Thanks for reading !


	5. Comfort Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner preparations get under-way, and the two learn more about each other.

**On the way home**

Lexa thinks there’s something strange about their drive home. The atmosphere is friendly and conversational, and she finds it so easy to talk to Clarke. They chat and banter about songs and actors and movies, and it just feels so _natural_ to her. She smiles at Clarke’s jokes, and it warms her when Clarke turns to watch her smile. 

And the strangest thing is that not for a second does any of it feel out of place.

Except for the fact that Lexa’s still a little bit nervous, because Clarke will soon be in her apartment, and they will soon be having dinner.

 _Together_.

Which should be perfectly _normal -_ what’s a dinner between friends? Lexa has had dinners before. Lexa’s sure Clarke has had dinners too. Lexa has even had dinners with people before, both of which she very much can get through unscathed.

Except, for there is always a second except, she hasn’t had anyone but Anya in her apartment for _ages_. It’s not that she doesn’t have _friends_ , rather it’s just that she’s comfortable having her own space – her own sanctum. Whenever she needed to have dinner with _people,_ well, she always made sure that it was somewhere else.

And even those had taken some time getting used to. For Lexa, most of her life was spent eating alone. Not always out of choice, but often enough to develop the sense that food was an intimate thing. When it came to eating with company, there was a balance necessary to conversation, and the food needed to be clean enough as to be eaten politely and without making a mess or embarrassing oneself. Lexa had grown quite skilled at ensuring that dinners with others were kept acceptable, efficient, and never lasting longer than they needed to be.

Lexa hadn't played much of a host to anyone except for Anya, and they had known and grown together for so long that they were like two sides of the same coin, so carefully attuned to each other that it barely even counted. Besides, they made themselves at home in each other’s company and came and went as they pleased. 

 _That_ was the degree of familiarity that someone needed to reach with Lexa before she felt comfortable with them in her home, and now she was to open her doors to Clarke, the guest?

What if Clarke came from a family that had wildly different eating habits? What if Clarke had some sort of allergy and didn't want to embarrass Lexa? But that wouldn't happen, because Clarke’s cooking. Oh god, did _she_ need to let Clarke know of any allergies beforehand? No, Lexa didn't have any allergies - but what if she did and didn't know it? What if she had an allergic reaction in front of _Clarke?!_

Did she have emergency on speed-dial? What was she thinking - of course she had emergency on speed-dial. What rational person  _doesn't_  have emergency on speed-dial?

What if she didn't have the right cutlery? What if they had nothing to say over dinner? Oh, what if Clarke found Lexa boring? Did she have any music to play in the background? Ambience? Would that send the wrong idea? Did she have enough wine? Oh _god, what if Clarke wanted to do something after dinner?_

Lexa blushed at the idea, at the memories of too many romantic comedies that Anya made her watch, playing through her head one by one like the world’s most horrifying cinema. She wondered if Clarke would gaze into her eyes over a candle-lit table, toying with a glass of wine, giggling shyly at a joke Lexa had just told, biting a lip, eyelashes fluttering at Lexa…

_Oh god._

She shook her head; above all, Lexa must remind herself to remain logical, composed, and never to falter in the face of chaos. Even if that face was somehow both soothing like a soft rain and invigorating like a bolt of lightning straight to the brain.

Somehow, Lexa manages to keep her mental roil under check, and moments later they pull into the tiny parking lot underneath their building, just before a crack of thunder echoes from outside, lightning casting wild shadows in the darkness of the concrete tomb they find themselves in. They've barely exited their vehicle when the dull, rumbling bass of steady rain catches their ears, and a sweeping chill flows into the parking lot.

“Just in time,” Clarke laughs, as she gazes towards the entrance. “If we had taken any longer, we’d probably have been caught up in the storm.”

Lexa simply smirks. “We would have been quicker if you didn't spend another half-hour looking for ingredients.” Lexa pops the trunk of her car. She grimaces at the mess of groceries crammed into the tiny space, wondering if she’ll have to make a second trip –

“Well, I had to make sure that our first meal together was going to be perfect. I-I mean,” Clarke stammers as she realizes the weight of her words. “You know, like – uh, as good neighbours and stuff.”

Lexa pressed a fist to her mouth, faking a cough, but she knows the gesture is mainly to cover the tiniest grin and the slow blush that’s creeping up her cheeks. She reaches forward to pluck a bag from the trunk to distract herself.

“I don’t think we can manage all this in one go.” Lexa says, grabbing a few more.

Clarke leans forward, mentally counting the bags between them. “I think we can manage.”

“No, Clarke, that’s alright. We can do multiple trips –“

“But I'm pretty sure we can do it all in one trip.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Clarke, I –“

“No, it’ll be fine, if I just-“

**“Do you guys need a hand or something?”**

Clarke jumped, spinning on the spot and instinctively putting herself between Lexa and the deep, smooth voice that came from behind. Clarke found herself face to face with the stranger’s chest, a leather jacket, a motorcycle helmet tucked under an arm.

Lexa peeked over Clarke’s shoulder. _Oh, right._

Clarke eyed the stranger warily. “Who-“

“Anya.” Lexa scoffed. “Did you remember to lock the apartment, this time?”

Anya rolled her eyes and pulled a set of keys from her jacket. “Of course I did.” She said, jangling them playfully in front of Lexa’s face.

Lexa reached over Clarke’s shoulder, swatting at the keys with her free arm, but Anya pulled higher at the last second, toying with Lexa like a pet cat.

“Don’t _of course_ me, Anya,” Lexa snapped, blushing furiously. “You have, on more than one occasion, forgotten to lock my door, which meant I had to run home and lock the door myself.”

“Oh, relax, Lexy,” Anya said, smirking. “It’s not a big deal. And it’s not like _little-miss-perfect_ never forgets her own routine? Oh, wait, I recall just the other day, that someone locked herself out of her apartment, and instead of checking her car, she came running to mine because she met a gorgeous-”

Lexa wasn't sure she could blush any harder, but she managed it somehow.

“S-sh-shh! Shut the _fuck up_ , Anya!” Lexa pushed past Clarke, closing the gap between herself and Anya to shove her with as much impudence as possible. Anya took a step back to dodge Lexa’s aggression, a broad grin on her face, but ceasing her teasing nonetheless.

It was then that she seemed to take in Clarke, standing idly by, confused and still wary, clutching shopping bags in both hands.

Anya clicks her tongue. “Well, aren't you going to introduce us, Lexa?”

Arms crossed, Lexa throws Anya a burning glare, but huffs and gestures towards Clarke.

“Anya, this is my neighbour, Clarke.” Lexa ignores the way that Anya’s eyes widen for a moment, soldiering on. “Clarke, this is Anya, my –“

“ _Lover_.” Anya interrupts, throwing an arm around Lexa’s shoulders and beaming sheepishly at Clarke. “Isn’t that right, Lexy-poo?”

“I – wha-?”

Before Lexa can correct her, Anya leans down, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on Lexa’s cheek. Clarke’s eyes widen, and Lexa can’t help but feel a strange mix of quiet satisfaction and guilt as Clarke’s shoulders sag just a little.

“Gerroffme-“ Lexa says, pushing Anya away. She’s frightfully aware of the wetness on the side of her cheek and she rubs at it feverishly, and it’s only then that she feels the warmth on her face. “Anya and I grew up together. Sometimes she chills at my place. We’re **_not_** dating.”

“No, we’re not.” Anya sighs with mock exasperation. “She couldn't handle all this _woman_.” Anya flexes, and that at least earns a snort and an eye-roll from Lexa.

“Right,” Clarke finally manages to recover. “Nice to meet you.”

And Lexa can’t help but notice Clarke seems a little more relaxed about that. So much so that a grin cracks the confused, wary expression that she was wearing, ever since Anya got here.

Anya agrees to help carry the groceries up to Lexa’s apartment, and between the three of them they just manage to get all the bags up in one trip. Anya makes brief small-talk with Clarke, and Lexa’s relieved to see that the two are getting along, even if it’s just mindless banter. As Anya drops off her share of the bags at Lexa’s doorstep, she bids the pair farewell, and blows a kiss and a wink in their direction.

“Anya, please.” Lexa frowns as she rummages for her own set of keys.

“What?” Anya laughs, as she steps backward towards the elevator. “Who said that was for you?”

Clarke laughs, blushing slightly, and Lexa puffs in annoyance, which only earns a louder laugh from Anya, who disappears into the elevator moments later.

“Don’t – don’t worry about her.” Lexa says, fiddling with the lock. “She’s just being silly.”

“She seems nice.” Clarke says, smirking. “So, you two were childhood friends, or something?”

Lexa pauses, but only for a second. “In a way.” Their conversation falters as Lexa gets the door open, and grabs Anya’s share of the groceries. She takes a few steps into the darkened entryway, before she dumps the bags on a step, and begins to take off her boots.

“Well, this is it.” Lexa motions for Clarke to come in. “Sorry, I didn't have time to clean up.”

 

** Lexa’s apartment. **

_This place is fucking spotless._

They say that your living space is a reflection of your personality. If that’s true, then Lexa is the complete antithesis to everything that Clarke Griffin is; and it goes beyond the basic comparison of Lexa’s neat and clean versus Clarke’s messy and wild.

And she can’t help but feel that despite their differences in the way they keep their homes that there’s something similar between them, because despite the clean surfaces and spotless presentation that makes Lexa's apartment look like a display home, Clarke refuses to call the place soulless. 

Because Clarke can see beyond the façade. While others might call Lexa’s apartment cold and calculated, Clarke says considered and curated. She sees the rows of footwear by the door; boots at one end, business shoes at the other. She sees the shelves of books organized not only presumably alphabetically, but also aesthetically pleasingly in terms of shape and spine colour. She sees the way the kitchen is not only immaculately tidy, but also that all the useful tools and gadgets that she presumes Lexa uses most often are front and centre. Ergonomic.

She sees beyond the first impression, mostly because people have judged her with less as well. When people call her place messy, she wants to say impulsive and instinctive, easily accessible, and catered to her because it’s _her place,_ god-damnit, and she’s not just making excuses.

Lexa’s apartment is attuned to her need, and Clarke thinks that’s just lovely. And maybe its true that Lexa hadn't done anything specifically to clean up, but honestly Clarke could have stepped into a mess worse than her own, but as long as it was Lexa’s mess, she’d have felt just as much at home.

Whatever _that_ thought meant.

Between the two of them, they manage to put away Lexa’s groceries and set aside Clarke’s for later, and it’s only that when they start going down the recipe for dinner that Clarke feels a little hesitant.

And Clarke just thinks, just maybe, that Lexa knows and is trying her hardest to call her bluff.

“Clarke, are you _sure_ you got the right kind of pasta?”

“Clarke, have you salted the water yet?”

“Clarke, do you want these tomatoes sliced or diced?”

“Clarke, how much do we need for the two of us?”

It’s when Clarke is holding the raw pasta over the rapidly boiling pot of salted water that she starts having flashbacks to the last time she tried to cook something for herself and Raven. Raven had forgiven her, but their previous landlords hadn't.

“Um,” Clarke takes a deep breath and turns to Lexa, still holding the pasta. “Lexa, I just… Okay, um, maybe I was being a _bit…_ ”

Lexa crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow at Clarke. “Yes?” She smirks, clearly amused.

Clarke’s eyes dart to those soft lips.

_Okay, fuck it._

“Okay, I'm about to confess something to you, and I really need you to not give me any shit about it because I was trying to impress you, but I’d also really like this to go well so I'm going to hang up my pride for a moment in honour of this building’s fire safety protocol, okay?”

Lexa’s face is one of surprise. “I – uh, alright, Clarke. What is it-“

“ _I'm not a very good cook and please help me._ ”

Lexa stares incredulously at Clarke for a second, as if she’s surprised that Clarke had dropped the game so quickly. It hits in like a truck, and in a second she throws her head back in laughter.

And it’s all that Clarke can do to stand in Lexa’s kitchen, pouting because she just wants Lexa to not suffer at her hand and _just_ have a nice meal, but at the same time Clarke just finds Lexa's laugh _so endearing._ Clarke’s grumbling and muttering to herself and sulking by the stove, staring intently at the boiling water as Lexa continues to laugh, when she suddenly feels Lexa pull her back and throw a stretch of fabric over her.

Clarke glances up, surprised to see that Lexa’s wearing a black apron now, before she realizes that Lexa had also thrown one on her and is in the process of tying off a _very_ frilly tie across Clarke’s waist.

“Oh.” Clarke manages, tugging at the frills.

“Sorry,” Lexa grins. “Anya bought it as a house-warming gift, but it’ll do. So,” She elbows Clarke gently. “Show me that recipe – I'm sure we can figure this out together.”

 

** A few, unburned moments later. **

Outside, the rain seemed to only get louder, slashing at Lexa’s windows. Inside, the apartment became rich with smells of frying vegetables, spices, and mouth watering meats.

Lexa had to admit, even if Clarke wasn't a natural cook, she was a very quick learner, and between the two of them they managed to get dinner under way. Lexa’s kitchen rapidly transformed to what she imagined a commercial kitchen would look like, with cutting boards strewn across the breakfast bar, half chopped vegetables lying here and there, and several pots and pans across the stove, each one seemingly frying or bubbling or stewing a myriad of flavours.

They left Clarke’s phone lying in the open, the two of them darting to it from their stations every minute or so to check their instructions, and to glance over the other’s shoulder to see what they were up to. Halfway through, Clarke came up with an idea, and rushed over to her apartment, returning minutes later with speakers to blast music into the kitchen. Lexa stood stunned for a few seconds, watching Clarke dancing out-of-time and singing out-of-tune before she burst into a fit of giggles. Though Lexa insisted that she wouldn't be caught dead singing or dancing, Clarke caught her humming along as she tended to the sauce. After a while, with Lexa’s suggestion, Clarke changed it to something quieter and more melodic, to let them talk.

And it was all going so well, until Clarke found Lexa’s house-warming gift.

“Hey,” Clarke said from the other end of the room. “This recipe didn't call for champagne, did it?”

“No,” Lexa said instinctively. Champagne sounded like an awful addition. “Why-“

_Oh._

Lexa turned to see Clarke staring intently at the recipe on her phone, a look of confusion on her face as she held the bag and bottle of champagne that Lexa had bought, that had been left idly in the corner of the kitchen, now discovered by Clarke. 

“Then why do we have champagne?” Clarke ruminated. “I swear we put everything we didn't need away. Did we miss-“

“Actually,” Lexa said, walking over to Clarke. She felt a sudden surge of confidence, almost excitement. “I bought that for you. As a… a house-warming gift. Surprise.”

Still, she felt warm, warmer than they had been when she was standing by the stove.

“Oh!” Clarke beamed. “Thank you!” Without warning, Clarke threw her arms around Lexa, drawing her into a deep hug. Lexa's own hands were pinned between their embrace, but she didn't really care or notice. She could feel her eyes widen, her body responding to Clarke’s intimacy, but even _that_ seemed to go by unnoticed. What she _did_ notice was how _good_ Clarke’s hair smelled.

Something tropical. Coconut-y. It sent hot, fuzzy waves flowing through Lexa, and it wasn't until she felt Clarke tapping on her shoulder that she was drawn back to reality.

“… Lexa? Leeeexa.”

“Hm?” Lexa hummed, making a noise midway between a purr and a moan.

“You’re, uh – you’re gripping onto my apron.” Clarke pulled back as far as she could, revealing Lexa’s hands balled into fists, grasping handfuls of frilly apron, holding them impossibly close together.

“Oh!” Lexa released her grip, taking a step back. “Sorry!”

Clarke smirked, pink-cheeked and eyes wild. “It’s, uh, whatever.” An silent moment followed, before Clarke cleared he throat. "Hey, do you have glasses? I'm thinking we should crack this open.”

And that was how they added champagne to the recipe. Sort of.

Their cooking adventure continued, now fuelled by the sweet, burning fuel of liquor. With most of the preparation done, it was time to sit and wait, slowly stirring, adding bits here and there as things cooked and softened and wilted. It gave them time to talk, and drink. They spoke of the neighbourhood, and of the building, of nearby places to get good food, and how to get around the city.

And they spoke of friends and family.

“So, you and Anya must be close?” Clarke said, refilling Lexa’s glass. Lexa eyed the bottle carefully, already feeling the effects as she leaned against the counter-top. Her palms were itchy, and light-headedness has begun to seep in, but she was enjoying herself.

“I… We grew up together.” Lexa said slowly. “We both had… unique childhoods.”

Lexa didn't understand why Clarke was looking at her with sympathy. Perhaps she had said it with sadder emotion than she had intended? The subject was always uncomfortable to talk about, but Clarke didn't ask any more questions.

“What about you? What’s your family like?” Lexa said unintentionally. “Any sisters – brothers? Siblings?”

Clarke shook her head. “No siblings.” Clarke paused, as if lost in thought. “My mother’s a doctor.”

Lexa nodded slowly, watching Clarke refill her own glass. Somehow, Lexa knew she shouldn't ask about the detail Clarke omitted.

“What about your friend, Raven?” Lexa said between sips. “School?”

“Yeah, we went to school together. I left for art school, she went to engineering, but we always stayed in touch.” Clarke took a sip of her champagne, stirring the sauce with her free hand. “What about Anya? What does she do for a living?”

Lexa snorted. “She’s _living_.” She hesitated, catching the look of confusion on Clarke’s face. “Sorry, that’s what she usually says whenever someone asks her that. She – she struck it big in journalism, and made editor in less than a year. She gets paid _a lot,_ and spends most of her time on her bike. She’s a bit of a petrol-head.”

Clarke grinned, brow raised.  “She and Raven would get along.” She bit her lip, an idea in her mind. “Do you think they’d… you know…”

Lexa felt a grin tug at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, that could be interesting.”

Clarke laughed, though short-lived as the sauce she was watching began to bubble violently. She turned the gas down, and brought the spoon to her mouth to taste.

“Hm.” Clarke licked her lips. “Something’s not quite right.”

“Oh?” Lexa put her glass down, lifting her chin to gaze over to Clarke’s pot.

“Yeah. It says its supposed to be smoother – and the pictures looked a bit lighter, actually. Can you grab the phone?”

They stood side by side, staring into the pot of sauce, Clarke’s phone between them, running through the recipe line by line, searching for a missing ingredient, a misstep in their procedure. Clarke hummed and muttered to herself, counting off each vegetable, each pinch of spice, shaking her head and flicking through to the next one as she audited the sauce.

Except Lexa just simply stared at the woman standing next to her.

It was definitely the champagne. Warm and emboldened, she couldn't tear her gaze aware from the way the blonde curls fell so effortlessly around Clarke’s face. She couldn't stop herself staring at the way Clarke’s nose twitched when she was deep in thought, the way she bit her lip and furrowed her brow in deep thought. The way she put so much effort into the recipe, and how endearing it all was.

And when Clarke turned to Lexa, she couldn't help but stare into her so-very-blue eyes. Lexa would have reminded to kick herself later, but at this point, she didn't even care.

She could spend the rest of her life drifting in and out of daydreams, if they were all about Clarke. Again, it wasn't until Clarke reached forward and tugged at Lexa’s arm that she fell back to reality.

“…Hey, are you okay?”

“Um,” Lexa shook her head, waking from her reverie. “Yeah. Sorry, what did you say?”

Clarke smiled, a look of faint concern on her face. “We forgot the cream. I-I mean, _I_ forgot the cream. Forgot to buy it.”

Lexa couldn't really concentrate. It was odd, that she was feeling so… strange. She never was much of a drinker, but even then she was surprised at how much of a lightweight she was. And they were close. Really, really close. Lexa wasn't sure if she wanted to curse the champagne or kiss it, but it _was_ responsible for this compromising situation, where Lexa stood mere inches from Clarke, and she could swear, swear that it was real, that she saw Clarke’s eyes drift to her lips, and that the space between them was getting really, _really_ small, almost evaporating…

“I’ll get it!” The words tumbled from Lexa’s mouth. “I – There’s a bodega on the corner, I'm sure they have cream – just, you stay here a-and I’ll be _right_ back.”

“Lexa, it’s fine,” Clarke said, chuckling. “You don’t have to-“

But Lexa had already left the kitchen and was pulling on her boots in the hallway. “I’ll be _right_ back, Clarke Griffin. You stay and watch the… the food.”

Clarke stared on with a look of incredulity. “Lexa, are you drunk?”

“ _No, I am not!_ ”

“At least let me come with you!”

“No, it’s just on the corner downstairs – I’ll be right back! Make sure the food doesn't burn the building down”

“Well - do you have your phone and wallet?”

Lexa patted down her pockets. “ _Yes._ ”

“Okay,” Clarke paused, grinning. “But if you’re not back in ten minutes, I'm sending a search party for you, okay?”

“ _Fine,_ whatever.” Lexa paused, hand on the doorknob. “What... what am I buying again?”

Clarke laughed, rolling her eyes. “Cream, Lexa.”

Lexa nodded, and with that, she disappeared out the front of the apartment.

 

** Clarke. **

She felt warm, definitely from the champagne, but she was nowhere as buzzed as Lexa seemed to be. She felt a pang of guilt, and worry set into her as she stood staring at the front door.

She shook her head, and smiled to herself. Lexa was a strong, determined individual, even if she was slightly drunk. And she wasn't going to go far - she'd be fine. Clarke said the words over and over in her head, _she'd be fine,_ and to be fair she was going to be true to her word – if Lexa took a minute longer than necessary, she would go out there and drag her ass back herself.

Not that she was worried or anything. 

Still, there wasn't exactly much to watch over in the kitchen. The heat had been turned low, and everything was quietly bubbling away in a gentle simmer. Clarke could get started on the dishes and cleaning up, but where was the fun in that?

She was in Lexa’s apartment, without Lexa.

Clarke wandered her way into the living room, making sure to keep the stove in careful line of sight at all times. She perused the few shelves and dressers that sat around the room, decorated with little tea-lights and half-burned candles that smelled of fruits and winter. She found the bookshelf, piled high with books that Clarke had never read, in languages that Clarke never knew existed. Her fingers ran along leather spines, trying to pronounce one after the other, laughing at her own poor attempts.

Until she found one on the lower shelf – a large, leather-bound tome with gold print that read _“My family.”_

Clarke’s hand froze, hovering against the tome. There was a part of her that knew she should ask first, but another, louder part just wanted to know more about Lexa.

It was dusty, as if it hadn't been opened in some time, but the images seemed relatively recent. A younger Lexa looked up at Clarke, glasses skewed and smiling, standing in front of a lake, hands behind her back. She turned to the next page, and found another of Lexa, this time with a younger Anya, pulling faces as they stood side-by-side in the woods. The next was of a group of people, and in the next a heavily bearded man bellowed in laughter as a younger Lexa and Anya tugged at fistfuls of beard, a taller, dark-skinned woman smiling at the camera beside them. A small caption sat in the corner; _“Visit us again soon! G + I.”_

Clarke flipped through page after page. More often than not, it was Lexa by herself, standing in front of various locations. Sometimes it was Anya by herself, and sometimes it was the two of them together. Sometimes it would be a bunch of people that seemed unfamiliar to Clarke, but closer than anything to Lexa and Anya in the pictures.

Clarke had a feeling she knew what it meant, but the last page confirmed it.

It wasn't in the same condition like the others. This one was yellowing, a photograph smaller than the rest, as if taken by a camera lost in time. Rows and rows of kids in uniform, Clarke thought it was a school photograph for a moment, until she saw the caption.

_Polis Children's Home._

Clarke closed the album, and placed it back onto the shelf, her heart heavy. She returned to the kitchen and busied herself with tidying up, until Lexa came home. Clarke didn't hear the door open, but she heard it close. It made her jump and when she turned to greet Lexa, her words quickly gave way to laughter.

Lexa stood in the doorway of the kitchen, still dressed in her apron, clutching a small tub of cream, all the while sopping wet.

“Lexa!” Clarke exclaimed, smiling. “Oh my god, you – you didn't bring an umbrella?!”

Lexa shook her head. “I forgot.”

Clarke gave a sigh of exasperation. “You _forgot._ Didn't you tell me just the other day that you always remember your things?”

Clarke smiled at Lexa. There was something adorable in the way she stood there, dazed and dripping in the hallway, but Clarke’s appreciation of Lexa quickly turned to worry as Lexa didn't move further into the kitchen.

“Lexa, are you feeling okay?” Clarke grabbed a clean tea-towel and started dabbing at Lexa’s wet hair. “You look a little out of it.”

Lexa’s eyes drifted slowly for a second, before her face scrunched into a loud sneeze.

“Oh god.” Clarke muttered.

Lexa blinked heavily, moving slowly past Clarke to place the cream on the counter-top. “Cream, Clarke – f-for the f-food.” She spoke with congestion, slightly shivering.

“No, no, no – no, Lexa,” Clarke moved quickly to grab Lexa by the shoulders, pressing the back of her hand to Lexa’s forehead. “You’re burning up – you’re sick. God, no wonder you've been so dazed. I shouldn't have – this is my fault, _fuck_ -”

“I'm _fine,_ Clarke,” Lexa grumbled, swatting at Clarke’s arm with the strength of a soft gust of wind. “I'm fine, I just... tired...”

 

**A few more minutes later.**

When Clarke made doubly sure that the kitchen wasn't going to burn down, and that all the food was properly stored away in as many containers as she could find, she made her way back to Lexa’s room with a hot face-cloth, some cold medicine she had found in her apartment, and a warm glass of water.  

Clarke knocked on the door. “Changed, Lexa?”

A low groan from inside was her answer. Pouting, Clarke opened the door with her elbow, and made her way inside Lexa’s darkened room.

Lexa sat at the foot of her bed dressed in a grey hoodie and sweat-pants that Clarke had found in Lexa’s drawer, her wet clothes shrugged off and discarded at her feet. Her hair was frizzy from aggressive towelling, and her eyes were closed, slightly narrowed from the painful thrums of her headache.

“Alright, Lexa,” Clarke whispered, as she laid the items on the bedside table. “Let’s get you tucked in.”

Sick Lexa was surprisingly compliant, shuffling around to let Clarke throw the covers back, and crawling into bed with little resistance. After Clarke pulled the covers up, Lexa nuzzled herself deep into her pillow, clutching at the covers as she balled up. Her shivering slowed as Clarke dabbed at her forehead with the warm towel, sitting on the other side of the bed behind Lexa.

“Hey,” Clarke said quietly, hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “Don’t pass out yet – take your medicine.”

Lexa complied, sitting up enough to allow Clarke to feed her two tablets and a sip of warm water. When she was sure they had gone down correctly, she let Lexa curl back into her ball, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

_She looks so peaceful._

“Clarke,” Lexa said, rolling over to face Clarke, eyes closed and voice hoarse. “A-are we _friends?_ ”

Clarke laughed softly. _She’s so out of it._ “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Is… Is that why you’re taking care of me?”

Clarke felt her heart tug. “Y-yeah, but I’d still help you if we weren't.”

Lexa hummed quietly. “You’re so nice. I've never had a…” Her voice trailed off into a cough. “Anya was right about you…”

Clarke smiled. “What did Anya say?”

She waited for a response, but judging by the slow rise and fall of Lexa's chest, it seemed that sleep had taken her. Clarke sat on the edge of Lexa’s bed for a little while longer, softly rubbing Lexa’s shoulder until she was sure her sleep would stay.

It was strange, and Clarke attributed it to all the effort of cooking and looking after Lexa, that she found herself ridiculously tired. She felt her eyes heavy, and it was only then that she found her head clouded and muddled. She felt her throat dry, and muscles sore, and suddenly Lexa’s bed seemed like the most perfect, comfortable place to have a lie down.

She found the edge of the covers on the other side of Lexa’s bed and pulled them over herself, soft and warm and cosy, so invitingly plump and Clarke thought, just for a few minutes, she'd rest for a bit with her head on the pillow beside Lexa's, and maybe, just a little nap. 

Just to make sure Lexa would be okay, and that she’d be there if Lexa needed anything.

Sure, that makes sense.

 

**Meanwhile in another part of town...**

Anya pulled her helmet off, shaking free her hair. She grimaced at the sky, still dark and grey, but the rain had let off or now. She brushed a few drops off her jacket, and pushed the door into the café.

The server behind the counter perked up at her entrance. “What can I get you?”

“Large coffee, please.” Anya said, resting her helmet on the counter. She glanced around the half-empty café – there were a few patrons dotted around the place, some enjoying their dinner, others finishing up with a slice of cake and coffee. There was a family by the window, kids happily gorging on fries and burgers, and a couple sat in a darker corner, heads so close Anya swore they were going to fuse together.

And in one of the booths, Anya spotted a familiar dark-brown ponytail, full attention on the food in front of her.  

 _Raven._ Anya raised a brow, amused.

“Miss?” The server repeated.

Anya turned back to the counter. “Hm?”

“Was that to go, or to have here?”

Anya smirked. “Have here – at _that_ table.” She said, pointing over to where Raven was sitting.” Oh, and make it two coffees, please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, they didn't get a chance to try their meal did they? they're going to be hungry when they wake up :( 
> 
>  
> 
> Uh oh, treading dangerously away from the "nothing but happiness" tag, but rest assured that I have no intention of making angst! not real angst anyway. Don't hold me to that. I'm trying to keep this as positive, but at the same time as interesting as I can. 
> 
> a bit of a longer chapter too, though who complains about that? 
> 
> Comments always welcome :)


	6. Interlude - Raven's Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya ambushes Raven at the cafe, and a coffee leads to a drink which leads to another drink which leads to Lexa's apartment, which leads to Raven pulling a prank on her friend, and her friend's sick neighbour/crush/???/sick buddy. 
> 
> Was originally going to be a short section in the next chapter, but it grew a bit longer and felt it deserved its own spin-off mini-chapter. Next chapter will resume the Clexa!

**Still at the Cafe**

Raven was the self-proclaimed king of gay chicken, not that anyone would dare challenge her claim anyway. It probably had something to do with the fact that she was _extremely_ gay herself - so when it came to a game where adhering to hetero-normative stereotypes was considered a disadvantage, Raven excelled.

But her title reflected her disposition well; she was headstrong, sharp, and confident. So when Anya appeared from nowhere, sliding unannounced into the seat opposite her, she allowed herself only a moment to look surprised, before she defaulted to her casual demeanour of cool, calm, and collected. She went for aloof, unflinching and mysterious, with her arms crossed, brow raised, and mouth curling into a slight smirk.

The problem was that Anya seemed to be going for the same thing. She sat with one arm hanging over the back of the seat, the other stretched forward and tapping the table, as if daring Raven to speak first. Raven didn't bite, and instead feigned a yawn, and a glance at her phone, as if she was bored of Anya’s games. It earned her a grin and a roll of the eyes from Anya, and not much else.

It was there they found themselves, two individuals trying their hardest to appear enigmatic, making fools of nobody but themselves in silence, eye-fucking each other and all the while pretending not to care. The gauntlet had been thrown; Who was going to speak first? Whoever did opened themselves to a witty retort. Raven should have been at an advantage here, having been played earlier by Anya, only to have her turn up at her table hours later. Then again, Raven was caught in a moment of surprise, so Anya should have the upper hand.

It was a tense moment, threatening to burst like an flooded dam at any moment. In fact, if the waitress had taken just a bit longer with the coffees, they very well might have jumped each other then and there in the café. She approached their table hesitantly, as if wary of disturbing a sensitive moment, and placed the drinks on the table, apologizing profusely for the delay.

As Raven watched the waitress leave, she glanced down to the steaming cup of coffee, and smirked at Anya.

 _Bingo_.

“You _shouldn't_ have.” Raven said playfully, her best attempt at a smoulder, tapping the side of the cup softly.

Anya hummed, not even meeting Raven’s eyes. “My pleasure - you seemed _thirsty_.” She blew gently over her own cup, before taking a sharp sip. 

“Oho,” Raven laughed, slapping the table. “Please, that’s weak. That line doesn't work with coffee; more suited to, like, a beer or something. Who drinks coffee when they're thirsty?”

Anya had the good grace to feign offence. “Please, it’s working on _you_.” Anya laughed.

“Is _not_.”

“You’re **blushing**.”

“This?” Raven fanned herself. Admittedly, she did feel a little warm, but she’d never let Anya know. “This is second-hand embarrassment from that half-baked attempt at flirting. But hey, _thanks for the hot coffee.”_

Raven winked, and Anya stared in amused disbelief. She laughed and leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm.

“You’re an interesting person, Raven.” Anya said slowly, as if chewing a thought.

“Thanks, I get that a lot.” Raven said. She sipped at her own coffee, trying to imitate Anya the best she could. Her eyes watered and she desperately held back a yelp when her mouth and tongue seared against the molten liquid.

Fortunately Anya didn't seem to notice. She glanced at her phone, before turning back to Raven. “How old are you?”

“Um, _creepy_.” Raven said, recovering.

Anya glared at Raven with burning eyes, and Raven melted beneath them.  

“26.” Raven said, pushing aside her coffee.

Anya’s eyes narrowed further, but her smile widened. “Try again.”

Raven paused. She cocked her head slightly, and rolled her eyes. “Okay, 24.”

Anya laughed softly. “And now, the _truth_.”

Raven tapped the table with her nails. No-one had moved so swiftly past her barriers before.

“20.” Raven said quietly, glancing away briefly, only to turn back a second later. “But 21 in December.”

Anya reclined in her seat, nodding slowly, the look of proud amusement never fading. “20, 21 in December.” She sighed with mock exasperation, eyes twinkling. “I guess drinks will have to be on me then.”

It took Raven a moment to process that Anya’s words weren't teasing, but rather an invitation. In fact, it didn't hit her until Anya had made her way over to the door, and when she noticed Raven hadn't followed her, rolled her eyes again.

Anya rolled her eyes so often that Raven was semi-convinced that her eye sockets were swivel joints.

Anya tutted, grinning. “Well, are you coming or what?” 

Raven blinked idly, before scrambling from her seat. “Y-yeah, hold up.”

The doorbell tinkled and swung shut behind them, and two cups of coffee lay unfinished, steaming and abandoned.

As it turned out, Anya grew up in the neighbourhood, and knew a bar close enough that they could leave their rides at the café, and walk the distance. It took a few minutes, but before they knew it, they pushed through the battered wooden doors of _Undergrounders,_ and parked themselves at the bar of a half-empty watering hole.

Raven felt her heart thumping in her chest as she turned her gaze around the room. The bar was darkened, rustic to the point of semi-decay, with décor seemingly halfway between a bomb-sheltered and wild-man aesthetic. The other participants seemed mostly to be bearded men, with a few women dotted here and their, but neither were any less intimidating.  

For a moment she cursed herself, wondering what sort of hell Anya had walked her into. But when Anya shouted her greeting, the rest of the bar roared in reply and laughter, and any hesitations that Raven had evaporated. The whole room seemed to relax, and Raven did so with it. Anya introduced Raven to the owner and bartender (“Meet Lincoln,” Anya laughed. “Just about as classy as the car, and half as reliable.”), and there their night began.

If Raven had felt bare before Anya before, every minute she spent at the bar drinking and talking seemed to peel back a layer from Anya too. Anya exuded a demeanour that spoke danger and a wild spirit, but Raven began to see deeper into her personality, something that seemed to resonate with her spirit as well. There was a guarded soul, a caring and protective side to her, and Raven respected that. In the end, Anya never did push a drink to Raven. Instead, she let her order her own, confident that she knew her limits. They talked, and conversation flowed surprisingly easy. It was strange, that the two would find someone so easy to connect to within a person that seemed to reflect their own insecurities so well.

It was around one in the morning, when Raven raised her hand to wave down Lincoln, that Anya cut them off.

“What?” Raven huffed.

“Enough.” Anya laughed, dismissing Lincoln. “You've had enough.”

“Please, y-you’re just…” Raven slurred, hiccoughing. “Worried I'm going to – to out-drink _you_.”

Anya scoffed. “We've _both_ had enough, then.”

“I don’t take orders from _you-_ “

“Raven-“

“No, just _one_ more-“

“Raven, you’re going to fa-“

“I-“

With swift reach, Anya managed to catch Raven before she tumbled to the ground, but almost dropped her again in laughter as she stared down at Raven’s face, pouting and ruddy red like an impudent child. Lincoln agreed that it was probably time for them to go, and Anya promised to come back the following day and cover their tab.

“S-so, what’s the plan.” Raven grumbled, leaning against Anya’s frame for support as they trundled down the street. “Under-age drinking is one thing – driving drunk I **won’t** allow.”

“Don’t worry,” Anya said, looking around to gain her bearings. “I've no intention of putting anyone in harm’s way.

“Well,” Raven grunted. “I'm not sleeping on the street. I have more dignity than that.”

“I said don’t worry,” Anya laughed. “Lexa’s apartment is nearby.”

“Oh, cool." Raven managed close to ten seconds before it hit her. "Wait - Lexa?" 

Anya nodded. "Yup." 

Raven's eyes narrowed. "She wouldn't happen to - uh, live opposite someone called Clarke, would she?"

Anya stopped, turning slowly to Raven, eyes wide. "As a matter of fact, I do believe she does."

They stared at each other in disbelief for a good half-minute, before they burst into drunken laughter.

"Small fuckin' world." 

 

**Outside Clarke and Lexa's Apartments**

There were bits in the night that were a blur. For example, how they managed to get back to Clarke and Lexa’s apartment was a mystery to Raven, as was how long they took to get there. What she did know was that it was still dark out, and that they were certain that people would be asleep. They crept quietly to the end of the hallway, and said their thank yous and goodnights as they made their respective attempts to get into Clarke and Lexa’s apartment.

Anya produced a key, and disappeared into Lexa’s apartment, leaving Raven to lean against Clarke’s door, knocking softly and mumbling Clarke’s name into the keyhole.

“Clarke,” Raven whispered. “O-open up. Its me, its… it – it’s Raven. Help. Help, I need sleep.”

For all she knew, she could have been there forever, and was half-considering pulling out her tools and breaking in again, when Anya suddenly appeared beside her.

“Anya,” Raven mumbled. “I can’t get the door to open up Clarke.”

It took a moment for Raven to notice Anya’s wide smirk. “Yeah, and I know why. Come with me.” She said, gesturing Raven into Lexa’s apartment.   

Raven fumbled around in the dark, following the soft plod of Anya’s footfalls through Lexa’s dark apartment, until she collided abruptly into Anya's back. 

“Careful,” Anya hissed. “You’ll wake the lovebirds.”

“Lovebirds?”

Light shone from Anya’s phone, filling the room with a sickly white glow. It took Raven a few moments for her eyes to adjust, gazing around the room. It looked to be a bedroom of sorts, unfamiliar but cosy. In a clean, clinical sort of way.

Her eyes gathered bits of information from the walls and furniture, but widened as they fell upon the bed.

Clarke lay fast asleep, half-tucked underneath the sheets, with Lexa bundled up cosily beside her softly curling towards Clarke’s warmth.

Perhaps it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the exhilarating shock of what she saw. Either way, Anya and Raven stood and stared, their gaze affixed on the two in bed, their chests rising and falling softly as they dreamt of sweeter things.

After a while, Raven broke the silence.

“Anya, I'm gonna say it - This is _weird_.”

“Is it?”

“I mean, it’s _pretty_ _fuckin_ ’ _weird_.”

“Hm. Maybe my sense of weird is just skewed.”

“ _Please_ don’t tell me you do this regu-”

“I do this regularly.”

“You just _wander_ into your sister’s apartment and watch her _sleep_?”

“She’s not my sister. And yes, sometimes.”

“That’s _pretty_ fuckin’ weird.”

“I mean - it’s not like I do it on _purpose_. Sometimes I'm in the area, and I'm too drunk or whatever to drive - hey, just like I am right now, how about that - so I just crash here. Sometimes, if I've got a few minutes before I pass out, I walk into Lexa’s room and see if she’ll let me sleep on her bed with her instead of her couch.”

“But - But _why_  the _fuck_ do you watch her sleep?”

“Because, I'm drunk as _fuck_ and I'm trying to aim my body right so I don’t fall onto Lexa instead of the empty space beside her.”

“I - Yeah, okay, fine. Fair enough, I guess that makes sense." Raven paused. "What’s wrong with the couch?”

“Have you _tried_ that couch?”

“Why the fuck would I have?”

“Good point." Anya turned to leave. "Honestly, Lexa has decent home decorating sense, but her couch is  _one fucking horrible bastard-_ "

Raven grabbed Anya’s arm before she could leave.

“Wait - wait! Wait. I have an… an idea, hold-up, just... “

Anya watched with eyes wide in amusement, stifling a laugh as Raven moved around the bed. “What are you - no, no! Oh my god, that’s - they’re going to _freak the fuck out_.”

When Raven was done with her plotting and planning, they slipped from the bedroom, closing the door behind them carefully, and Anya turned off her light. After a good laugh, the two sighed complacently, leaning on opposite walls in Lexa’s hallway.

“Okay," Anya said quietly, rubbing her eyes. "So, we can’t crash here.” 

“Noooope.” Raven smirked. "I don't want to be in this apartment when they wake up. For... for multiple reasons." 

Anya laughed. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Hm.” Raven pondered. Her mind felt a little clearer as she sobered up, but the fatigue was still set in her bones. “Look, I'm... just going to break into Clarke’s apartment. You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

Anya chuckled. “Seems fair.”

Raven piqued at Anya's response. She honestly hadn't expected her to accept - and she couldn't resist one last play. “And you know, if you’re _up_ for it-“

Anya snorted. “No, Raven.  _Just_ sleep.”

“Psht. Fine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was originally going to be a short section in the next chapter, but it grew a bit longer and felt it deserved its own spin-off mini-chapter. Next chapter will resume the Clexa!  
> I don't know. hope you enjoyed this little breather/intermission! 
> 
> comments are always welcome :)
> 
> Editted on 24/6/2016 - needed to account for the fact that anya never mentions her relationship with lexa, and yet raven is completely unfazed by the fact that anya goes into lexa's apartment. i mean they're drunk, but they're not that drunk.


	7. Sick Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa freaks out, Clarke (is also sick) plays medic, Raven has a laugh, and Anya is proud (for the wrong reason)

**In Lexa's bed, morning**

_Oh, my head…_

_Ah, my throat is sore…_

_My mouth is so dry… and it’s so hot in here…_

_Ugh, I’m aching all over… and why can’t I lift my arms?_

Lexa blinked in the darkened room, head thumping and mind swirling in a sea of confusion and half-consciousness. She licked her chapped lips, dry tongue scraping against the ceiling of her mouth. Her face was impossibly hot, and her whole body felt rigid, skin slick with cold sweat.

And her chest felt heavy. Heavier than it could possibly be – in fact, it felt _**so** _ heavy that she swore something was resting on it right beneath her sternum. Had she fallen asleep with a book again? No, this felt heavier. Was it her laptop? No, it wasn't quite that large.

_Hold on._

She realized what it was – and shortly after _who_ it was, when she shifted, and the heavy mass that rested on her chest, moved back.

“Mmm,” A lazy, sleepy voice moaned. “Lexa…”

_Oh no. Oh no, no, no, **no, no.**_

The voice sent shivers up and down Lexa’s body. Even as Lexa desperately palmed her bedside table, searching frantically for her phone, _her_ name from _those_ lips echoed through her head, sending her mind into overdrive. When her fingers finally wrapped around her phone, she flipped through her apps until she found the flash-light and –

“Clarke?” Lexa hissed quietly in the dark.

She froze. Her eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light, and saw blonde curls tumbling over her chest. Clarke lay gently upon her, with one leg swung over Lexa’s thighs, and one hand thrown over Lexa’s torso, clutching at a handful of blanket on the other side. She could see sweat glistening off her brow, her face scrunched up in slight pain. She was still asleep, but it didn't look like the most comfortable of sleeping positions. In fact, it was as if someone had tossed her over Lexa, arms and legs flung over like a rag-doll.

Lexa turned off the light as quickly as she turned it on. It was far too much – Lexa wasn't ready for this.  She could feel her face burning, her heart thumping; if it beat any harder she would be sure that it would wake Clarke up. She was resting with her ear against Lexa’s body after all – right now she must be dreaming of drum rhythms, or earthquakes, or, or –

_Mmm… Lexa…_

_Oh, god, please help me._

Lexa hadn't realized that she was gritting her teeth, that her jaw was clenched, that her palms were sweating and her legs were squirming, squirming at the proximity of Clarke, squirming at the way Clarke’s shirt rode up to reveal far, **_far_ ** too much skin that Lexa had to tear her eyes away from. She tried to slip out, escape from underneath Clarke’s unconscious embrace, her movements slow and subtle, but –

Lexa’s shifting must have displaced Clarke because the next thing she knew, Clarke was unconsciously moving up Lexa’s body, shifting in reaction to Lexa’s fidgeting. Lexa froze, lump in her throat, eyes impossibly wide in the darkness and hands balled tightly into fists, praying that whatever Clarke was doing, she would leave her with some scrap of dignity, some remnant of sanity after Lexa’s mind stopped racing and that _please, please Clarke, don’t, don’t… ah..._

It was only by the good grace of heaven that no one was around to hear Lexa letting slip a desperate whimper.  

Clarke stopped somewhere around Lexa’s neck, finding a comfortable spot to nuzzle against the warm touch of Lexa’s skin. Clarke’s arm wrapped over Lexa’s waist, drawing her closer, almost straddling her, as her nose swiped over Lexa’s jawline, her soft lips brushing at a sensitive spot on Lexa's collarbone. Clarke sighed complacently, and when Lexa was sure that she hadn't woken Clarke, she slowly released the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding in.

Lexa’s body shook quietly, some distant, primal corner of her mind growling in response, her lips trembling as she struggled to calm herself against Clarke’s touch. Her thoughts were a wild dilemma. Lexa needed to get out, right now – and yet some part of her wanted nothing more than to stay.

With her free hand, she lifted Clarke’s arm, and rolled her over. It was difficult, wrenching herself free from the warmth, and for a moment she could feel Clarke reach for the absence of comfort that Lexa had felt too. She slipped from the bed easily after that, rising to stand in ragged breath, almost keeling over as her head pulsed with a headache, her body sore and aching and agonizing against the cold morning air, as she watched Clarke curl up and slip back under the sheets.  

Lexa took a good few minutes to simply calm her breathing, and still her heart.  

And when her feet found movement, Lexa slowly and instinctively trekked to the bathroom, closing the door softly behind her. She pushed up against the frame, forehead resting against the coldness of the wood, her skin slick with sweat.

That was close. Far too close. Far, far too close, in both the metaphorical and literal senses.

And as for senses, every single one of Lexa’s was on fire. She yearned for the touch, the sound of her voice, the smell – _oh, god the smell,_ she had Clarke all over her, and the musk of her body and the fragrance of her shampoo -

Lexa turned to face the rest of the bathroom. In the darkened, cold room, she could feel every inch of her body radiating an intense heat, muscles thrumming and throat dry.

Lexa glanced to the corner. Right now, despite her being sick, she needed a cold, cold shower.

 

**Later in the morning, still in Lexa's bed**

When Clarke awoke, she could barely keep her eyes open. They burned, sore, and irritated, and she imagined them to be bright red-raw. She clenched her eyes shut again, trying to go back to sleep, rolling up in the suspiciously soft sheets that she didn't remember buying for her place, and smelling a suspiciously unfamiliar scent that wasn't her own.

But she kept her doubts to herself.

She just wanted sleep. Sweet, blissful unconsciousness, and apart from the vaguely familiar yet unfamiliar bedspread, she didn't think anything else was out of the ordinary.

Subconsciously, Clarke listed off the things she knew.

She _knew_ she was sick.

She _knew_ Lexa was sick too.

She _knew_ she had had dinner with Lexa last night.

She _knew_ that Lexa looked cute.

She **_thought_ ** she was in her own bed right now.

And that she was so certain of all those things, that she didn't bother to give any of them a second thought.

But try as she might, sleep didn't come back easily to Clarke. She tossed and turned, found all cold sides of the pillow and tried every sleeping position she possibly knew. In the end, she found herself throwing off the covers with a hearty sigh and making her way to the bathroom, all the while feverishly rubbing her eyes in a desperate attempt to wake up.

That was when Clarke walked straight into a shelf.  

Her first instinct was that someone had clubbed her around the forehead with a bat – the tell-tale swell of blood to the head, the searing cold sensation of pain across her brow, immediately replaced by a hot soreness. Clarke’s eyes watered and she rubbed them aggressively awake in an attempt to find the perpetrator of her assault.

Of course, nobody was there. In fact, she wasn't even facing the doorway to her bathroom. She stared up at the head-height shelf that must have been her assailant, and wondered when she had put that up there, wondered when she had bought so many books, wondered where the entrance to the bathroom could have gone –

The realization hit her almost as hard as she hit the shelf.

She wasn't in her bedroom.

She was pretty sure she wasn't even in her apartment.

_Oh, god, then where am I?_

Her mind raced to the day before. She remembered shopping with Lexa, she remembered cooking with Lexa, she remembered Lexa running out into the rain, getting sick, and Clarke bringing Lexa to bed, and –

_Oh._

_**Right**. _

Clarke rubbed her forehead, hissing between her teeth. But where was Lexa? _Had she left?_

 _Crap_. Had Clarke crossed a line by crashing on Lexa’s bed? She hadn't asked Lexa at all, what if –

“Clarke? Are you okay? I heard a sound.”

Clarke turned to the door, Lexa’s figure standing by the entrance, blacked out against the darkened room by the bright light from the living room.

“Y-yeah.” Clarke blinked up at Lexa, her vision swimming before her. “Just – uh, just a bit clumsy, that’s all.”

Lexa flicked on the bedroom light, and for a moment a sharp, stabbing pang of pain shot through Clarke’s head. She blinked away the blinding light, but the next thing she knew Lexa was kneeling beside her, brushing Clarke’s blonde hair aside to inspect the bruise.

And Clarke just can’t stop staring, because sick-morning Lexa blows her mind.

Her hair is still slightly wet, recently washed it seems, and is threatening to bounce back to what Clarke imagines are natural waves. She’s wearing an oversized woollen sweater that she has to keep hitching up two or three times around the elbows to keep them from falling at least three inches down past her fingertips. She has the cutest, most adorable tortoise-shell glasses that keep slipping from her nose, and Clarke just can’t help watching the way Lexa impatiently wiggles her nose when she uses the back of her wrist to push them back up.

And she simply stares as Lexa inspects Clarke’s bruise, tutting with a look of genuine worry on her face as her hand cups the side of Clarke's cheek.

Lexa’s voice cuts through Clarke’s daze. “Clarke? Are you okay?” Lexa says softly.

Clarke can’t help but notice they’re impossibly close. Barely inches apart.

“Um, y-yeah.” Clarke mutters.

Lexa scrunches up her face. “Uh, perhaps-“

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry – morning breath?”

Lexa glances away sheepishly. “Y-yes, um – look you’re more than welcome to, uh – you know, you can just use my shower, if you’d _like_ –”

Clarke blinks, half-dazed from the collision, half-dazed from being freshly awoken, and half-dazed by what she wants to dub ' _casual Lexa_.'

“Uh, no, that’s okay I live across the hall, I can just –“

That’s three halves, but Clarke doesn't care, and neither, apparently, does Lexa.

“Are you sure?” Lexa furrows her own brow. “I mean, you hit your head pretty bad, but – no, you’re right, I'm sorry –“

Clarke could feel her head swimming, and not just from her altercation with the bookshelf. She could see the blush creeping up Lexa’s neck, and settling into her cheeks.

Clarke shakes her head. “I’ll take a shower – and then come _straight_ back over, okay?”

Lexa blinks in surprise. “W-what, why?”

“You’re _sick_.” Clarke managed a shaky laugh, before coughing. “I mean, I am too, but **_someone’s_ ** gotta look after you – and if it’s me, well, then you can’t really infect me, can you?”  

Lexa’s mouth hung open in a perfect little ‘ _o_ ’, her glasses slowly slipping down her nose again. She managed to catch them before they slid off, and it was then that she closed her mouth. The blush had settled at this point, and Clarke couldn't help but notice the complacent smile that Lexa was desperately trying to keep subtle since Clarke had offered to look after her.

It was as if those words were new to her. _Someone’s gotta look after you_. Clarke’s memory flashed back to Lexa’s photo album.

“Okay.” Lexa managed meekly. She sniffled slightly – she still did look fairly under the weather.

Clarke nodded. “Okay, now help me up –“

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah – uh, ah, just a _little_ bit dizzy –“

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. Uh, call me if – if you need anything? I’ll be right here.”

“Yeah.” Clarke patted herself down, bringing a hand to her forehead to touch it gingerly. “Alright, I’ll be **_right_ ** back.”  

Clarke stepped out of Lexa’s apartment and into the hallway, trying and failing to hide the smile on her face that came from the fact that Lexa was watching her warily from her own doorway, as if she expected Clarke to fall over at any moment, only disappearing back into her apartment when Clarke closed the door behind her.

When she did, Clarke sighed complacently to herself, grinning broadly. She knew what this was, what it meant to care this much about someone else. She gave herself some room to pause, to let herself attribute her dazed composure to her illness, but she knew the warm, fuzzy feeling was something more than a cold.  

Her smile dropped suddenly when she heard a shuffling from her own bedroom. She spun around, stooping low to a guarded pose.

“Who’s there?” Clarke called out. She reached for an umbrella she kept by the door – it wasn't much, but maybe enough to give someone a good prodding stab.

She relaxed immediately as she saw Raven appear from the hallway.

“Easy, _knight Griffin_. It’s just me.” Raven yawned loudly, rubbing at her temples, a pained expression on her face.

“Raven,” Clarke sighed. “What are you doing here? How – how did you get in?”

“Uh, I broke in?” Raven said as-a-matter-of-factly. “I reckon I've spent more time in your apartment than you have, at this point." She wandered into the kitchen, fetching herself a glass of water. “Anyway, we went out drinking last night and needed somewhere to crash.”

“We?” Clarke frowned in disappointment. “You brought some fuck-boy to my apartment?”

Raven tutted. “It was a girl, actually – one hell of a girl, too.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, but markedly more relieved. “Great, some bar-floozy.”

“Excuse me, princess.” Raven laughed. “You could be more careful about your quick judgements. And if I recall correctly, we've both done more than enough in our lives to qualify as bar floozies.”

Clarke snorted, but shrugged in defeated agreement. “True enough. Just – please tell me she’s not still here?”

“She left an hour ago, I think. And we just slept, Clarke – what do you take me for?”

Raven mocked offence, but Clarke gave her a gentle shove.

“Anyone I know?”

Raven wagged a finger at Clarke playfully. “A lady never kisses and tells.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, and almost her whole head too. “Okay, I'm done – I'm going to take a shower. Please tell me you changed my sheets at least –”

“Hold on, you've got some explaining to do yourself!” Raven’s arm shot out, grabbing at Clarke’s forearm. “And where exactly did you just come from?”

Clarke froze. “Uh, n-nowhere. Friend’s place.”

Raven smirked. “Oh yeah, what friend?”

Clarke felt her brow sweating. “You don’t know her. Them. _They_. It was a share house.”

It was Raven’s turn to roll her eyes. “You just came from Lexa’s apartment.”

Clarke cocked her head, eyes wide in surprise. “How the _fuck_ did you know?”

The look on Raven’s face was smug to the n-th degree. “Didn't want to stick around for your morning cuddle?”  

Clarke’s mouth hung agape. She subtly sniffed at her collar – did she have Lexa’s scent on her or something? Was Raven secretly some sort of bloodhound?

“Look, we just slept too, okay?” Clarke huffed indignantly. “She’s not feeling so well, so I just hung around to make sure she was okay. _Nothing_ _even_ _happened_!”

 _I think. I hope. I mean, Lexa wasn't in the bed when I got up – oh my god. Everything seemed normal_. Lexa seemed to be fine when she was checking on Clarke. Perhaps she was just being polite. Clarke made a mental note to see if anything would be different when she went back over.

Raven laughed, eyes wide. “Oh my god – try not to sound **_too_ ** disappointed, yeah?”

“Okay, you know what – I'm done. I'm gross and I need a few minutes to myself in the shower, if you please.”

“What, so you can think about what a wonderful **_sleep_ ** you and Lexa had?”

Clarke stammered a witty reply, and ducked into the shower before Raven could see her cheeks glowing red.

 

 

**Lexa's apartment, early afternoon**

Lexa sat at her desk, rugged up in her oversized sweater, running a hand through her wavy hair and tapping a pen against the side of her laptop. Her desk faced the window, raindrops still slowly slipping down the cold glass, a dull chill seeping through the brickwork. Lexa kept her desk facing the window and walls, which in her own words was to keep her focused and her mind away from distractions.

Which was proving to be an extremely ineffectual tactic because Lexa was _still_ distracted. The kicker was that the biggest distraction wasn't even in the same room, lest in the same apartment as her.

A half-assed email sat open on her screen, just waiting to be deleted and rewritten. Lexa’s eyes glazed over, lost in a thought, only to be brought back to reality every half-minute when her screensaver would take over. Each time she'd then hurriedly reach to wiggle her mouse to wake it up again, becoming increasingly flustered about her inattentiveness. But after each time, her mind drifted back to the morning, to Clarke, leaving Lexa so zoned out that she couldn't even focus for long enough to realize she had misspelt her name.

 _“Elax”_ was focusing instead on her heartbeat, at the rush that coursed through her veins. The _bump_ in the bedroom, the spike of fear that drove her to rush towards the door, only to pause with her hand on the doorknob for a few seconds while she composed herself, steeling her will against Clarke’s bright, blue eyes.

It was as if she could still feel the touch, the warmth of Clarke against her.

She wanted to say that it was only in her head, the way that Clarke’s face seemed to soften when Lexa touched her hand to Clarke’s cheek gingerly to check the bruise. She wanted to say it was only in her head, that she saw Clarke’s eyes dart to Lexa’s lips, and that it was only in her own head that she felt the urge to brush her thumb over Clarke’s lips, to see them part, only just a little –

Well, _that_ part was _definitely_ in her head, but it didn't make any of it any less real. 

Lexa sighed, lifting her glasses to rub at her eyes. She felt strange, sort of soft, sort of fuzzy, and all sorts of vulnerable. She wasn't used to feeling vulnerable, but the worst part was that part of her _wanted_ to be, and everything else that it meant to feel vulnerable.

Perhaps she had spent too long calling it vulnerable, instead of what it really was.

Lexa was just about to give up and close her laptop, when a knocking on her door echoed through her apartment.

She took a deep breath. “Come in, the door’s open.” She said, voice raised only slightly. Since moving in, she had never once yelled in her apartment and  _dammit_  if she was going to keep some sort of order here. Clarke wasn't going to make her break _all_ of her rules.

She could smell Clarke before she saw her. Her body tensed up at the refreshing scent of Clarke’s shampoo, and at that moment Lexa made it her goal to get through the day without melting.

“That doesn't seem safe, Lexa.” Clarke said, from somewhere behind her. “What if I was, I dunno, some sort of murderer?”

Lexa typed out a nonsensical sentence, her guise of attentiveness maintained. “I can handle myself, Clarke.”

Lexa imagined Clarke would have rolled her eyes at that. She heard Clarke shuffling around her apartment behind her. 

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Working.”

“Wor – really, Lexa? You’re _sick_.”

“My work doesn't need by body to be in peak physical condition, just my brain.”

Lexa hadn't really formulated a plan. How long was she going to try and ignore Clarke? Unfortunately for her, Clarke seemed to have just that little extra bit of determination.

Lexa jumped when a cold hand clapped over her forehead, and Clarke leaned over her shoulder.

“I – ah! _Clarke_!”

Clarke tutted. “Your brain is burning up. You need _rest_ , Lexa.”

“I've had _plenty_ of rest.”

It seemed that Clarke had had enough of indignant Lexa, because at that moment Clarke forcibly spun Lexa’s chair around to stare her straight in the eye.

Clarke leaned down, hands firmly gripping the armrests either side of Lexa, her gaze levelled to meet Lexa’s. Her eyes were stern, brow furrowed and lips curled into a disapproving frown. Lexa’s hands balled to fists held tight against her chest, unsure how to react to Clarke’s sudden act of authority. Lexa was just hoping she hadn't made an embarrassing noise when Clarke spun her around.

She smelled a lot better than she did in the morning, that’s for sure.

“Alright, here’s the deal – I'm going to heat up some **leftovers** , you’re going to put something on **Netflix** , and we’re going to get some **rest** , okay?”

“Y-yes.” Lexa managed meekly. “Okay. Okay, yes. Thank you?” Lexa groaned internally, her mind whirring in overdrive.

Clarke nodded, her lips curling into a smiling pout.

Lexa was still in shock minutes later, when she found herself sitting upright on her couch, flicking through programmes, searching for something to put on while Clarke busied herself in Lexa’s kitchen.

“What – uh, Clarke?” Lexa said hesitantly. “What do you want to watch?”

“I'm good with anything you want to watch.” Clarke shouted from the kitchen.

“What about a documentary? There’s one about the making of Japanese horror films.”

Clarke peeked out from the kitchen, wearing the frilly apron that Lexa had pulled over her the day before. Lexa’s heart fluttered at the sight.

“Is it possible for something to sound boring and scary at the same time?” Clarke teased, backtracking as soon as she saw the look on Lexa’s face. “I'm joking – sure, that sounds fine.”

Lexa flipped through her phone as she waited for Clarke to finish heating up the leftovers on her stove.

One new message from Anya. “ _How were ur cooooodles with ur cyoot neighbour?”_

Lexa felt her cheeks burning up – how did Anya find out? Her questions were left unanswered when Clarke walked out of the kitchen, carrying two bowls of warm leftovers, placing one on the coffee table in front of Lexa.

“What’s up?” Clarke said.

“Hm?”

“You've got a – uh, _a curious expression_ , I guess.” Clarke gestured to Lexa’s phone. “Everything okay?”

Lexa’s eyes widened, shoving her phone hastily back in her pocket. “Y-yeah, everything’s fine. Here, sit.”

Lexa shuffled over, despite there being plenty of space on the rest of the couch. Clarke laughed, using her free hand to lift the apron over her head, tossing it lazily in the general direction of the kitchen. Lexa winced as the apron fell over the breakfast bar – she’d have to remind herself to pick that up later.

“Okay,” Clarke said, tucking a leg under herself to sit beside Lexa. “Let’s do it. Japanese horror? Sure.”

Clarke seemed to warm up to the documentary quicker than she expected to, but Lexa just simply couldn't focus. She kept glancing to her side to watch Clarke, watch the light dancing off her eyes, watch her hand raised halfway to her mouth as she watched intently. Clarke never caught her staring, and so Lexa dared to stare for a bit longer.

Of what she could gather, the documentary was more about the various locations used in Japanese horror films and local folklore. Clarke jumped, laughed, yelped beside Lexa, and it was all an experience so readily unfamiliar to everything she knew. It had been far, far too long since someone had permeated her world so thoroughly before, had seen so many sides of her and rooted herself so deeply in her consciousness so quickly, and yet at the same time left Lexa with a feeling of utmost complacency.

It was only when Clarke finished her meal and turned to Lexa that she caught Lexa sneaking a glance.

Clarke grinned shyly. “What?”

Lexa quickly glanced back down at her own bowl resting on her lap. It was basically full – she had a few bites, but wasn't feeling particularly hungry.

“N-nothing.” Lexa said, fiddling with her glasses, feigning a cough.

Clarke leaned closer to Lexa. “Not feeling hungry?”

Lexa’s throat went dry. She shook her head instead.

“Here,” Clarke reached over, taking Lexa’s bowl from her hands, and standing to walk towards the kitchen. “Hey – pause the thing!”

Lexa hurriedly fiddled with the remote. “I thought you said you’d find it boring?”

“Hey, what can I say,” Clarke said as she washed up the dishes. “Turns out you might have been on to something with all these documentaries.”

Lexa smirked to herself.

Clarke brought the second course of the meal – a glass of water, and cold and flu medication. Clarke hovered over Lexa as she gulped down the pills and water, and took the glass from her when she was done, but stood where she was, watching Lexa.

Lexa wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, and glancing up at Clarke over the top of her glasses.

“W-what? Is there something else?” 

Clarke’s face broke into a smile, and put the glass down onto the table. She sank into her spot next to Lexa.

“How are you feeling? A bit better?”

Lexa nodded. “A little. A bit fatigued, but… I think I'm okay.”

Clarke leaned forward, reaching up to touch the back of her hand against Lexa’s forehead again. This time, Lexa blinked in wariness, but relaxed to the touch.

Clarke really didn't seem to understand personal space. Lexa was _totally_ okay with it.

“Well, you’re still pretty hot.” Clarke said, before stammering. “L-like – uh, you know – I mean –“

Lexa smirked, a her heart racing. “Yeah – yeah I get it, Clarke.”

Clarke sighed, smiling. “So, if you want to get some sleep, I can go, or…” She trailed off, um-ing and err-ing the end of her sentence.

Lexa glanced over to the paused screen. “Do you want to finish the documentary?”

Clarke opened her mouth, words caught in her mouth, as if something was holding her back.

Lexa felt her stomach bottom out. “O-or, yeah, maybe it’s best if you – if we just, like, if –“

“No,” Clarke said, interrupting, her hand reaching over to rest on Lexa’s knee. “No, I want to finish it, but on one condition.”

Lexa’s eyes widened, her gaze darting from Clarke’s hand on her leg, to Clarke’s eyes, to Clarke’s lips. Her mouth was dry, tongue tripping over itself.

“I – oh, oh okay, um – right, well, uh… okay? What, w-what, um – what is it? It that you need? Your condition?”

_Get a hold of yourself, woman!_

Clarke took a deep breath, and leaned closer, eyes wide and filled with apprehension.

Clarke spoke slowly. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

“W-why, why would I get mad?”

Clarke grinned, eyes rolling. “Okay, fair enough. Look, it’s just that – like…”

Lexa practically sighed her words. “What is it, Clarke?” Her voice was breathy, heart thumping in her ears.

“Your… uh,” Clarke laughed. “Your _couch_.”

_Uh._

_What._

“What?” Lexa said, blinking, brow furrowed in confusion. “What about my couch?”

Clarke’s eyes widened as if she couldn't believe Lexa. “Lex, your couch is _really fucking_ uncomfortable.” She shifted around, fidgeting against the leather, as if proving her point. “I honestly don’t know how you put up with this.”

“I – my couch is _perfectly_ **_fine_** , thank you.” Lexa snapped.

“Dude,” Clarke said, slapping the leather. “It’s like sitting on a rock. I'm pretty sure my ass is as sore as my forehead now.”

Lexa blushed. “No – no! It’s a perfectly adequate couch. It’s ergonomic!”

“Nope,” Clarke said, getting to her feet. “That’s my one condition; if we’re watching the rest of this doc, we need an upgrade. Wait right here.”

“Clarke, where are you –“

“Wait _right_ **_here_**.”

"This is my apartment, why would I go -"

Clarke disappeared out the door. She barely gave Lexa enough time to figure out what just happened, to settle her disappointment, to remand herself for being _so fucking thirsty,_ when Clarke burst back through Lexa’s front door, arms laden with pillows, duvets, and comforters.

Lexa stared in awe.

_“Marshmallow man, coming through!”_

“Clarke, careful you’ll knock –“

_“Heads up!”_

“I – _Clarke_!”

With a single, surprisingly adept display of acrobatics, Clarke dove onto the couch, arms full of soft goodness, smothering Lexa under a mountain of comfortable. Lexa screamed in protest as Clarke squashed her, rolling around until Clarke lay victorious atop of the mass of bedding supplies, which in turn lay atop Lexa herself.

“ _Clrbb_!” Lexa shouted, laughing breathlessly, pressed against the leather of the couch. “ _Gddfmmm_! _Immkikrss_!”

Clarke relented, and Lexa surfaced red-faced and hair wild and tangled. Clarke laughed even harder, apologizing. She reached up to Lexa' face, brushing loose strands of Lexa’s hair from her eyes and glasses, which somehow survived the ordeal. Lexa retaliated with a pillow straight to Clarke’s face, and in conceding defeat, Clarke stretched out along the couch, legs laying over Lexa’s lap.

They spent the remaining hour the way, with Clarke stretched over the couch, Lexa sitting with her hands resting on Clarke’s knees. They laughed together, joked together, asked each other questions about superstition and horror, Clarke yelping in pain when Lexa accidentally gripped her thigh when the section on ghosts presented a jump-scare.

Lexa had to admit, it was a lot more comfortable this way, simply basking in each other’s company, with little care for what the outside world held for them, two sick neighbours trying to get some rest. They found themselves quite absorbed by the remainder of the documentary, and finding there was a follow-up, they ought to watch that one too.

And the follow-up to that one.

And the follow-up to that one.

Lexa didn't glance over at Clarke so much after that, but she could feel her presence, and that warmed her. Eventually, Lexa’s eyes began to droop, and she leaned over to rest her head in Clarke’s lap, as the television flashed with horror and intrigue.

“Lexa,” Clarke whispered. “Lexa, if you’re feeling sleepy you can just –“

Lexa hummed softly, eyes closed and resting serenely on Clarke’s lap. Lexa smiled to herself, purring softly as she felt Clarke’s fingers weaving through her hair, slipping her glasses from her face. She shuddered as Clarke’s hands ran along her scalp, sending vibes tingling down her spine, melting into the touch.  

She succumbed to fatigue moments later, humming gently in Clarke’s lap.

It wasn't too bad. It wasn't so scary after all. It wasn't anything to be afraid of. In fact, if falling asleep on each other turned out to be a regular thing, Lexa was sure that she happily oblige. 

 

**Meanwhile, somewhere else on a quiet street**

> _[You, 7.32PM]  
>  _ _Lexyy what’s happening_
> 
> _[You, 7.36PM]  
>  _ _Lex are u ok  
>  _ _R u ded lex_
> 
> _[You, 7.44PM]  
>  _ _Lexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_
> 
> _[You, 7.51PM]  
>  _ _Omg you’re the worst_
> 
> _[You, 8.01PM]  
>  __Call me when you finish doing w/e ur doing._  

Anya clicked her tongue impatiently. She stood waiting on the side-walk, breath misting in front of her; she had been looking forward to receiving the startled shocked response from Lexa the moment she had left her apartment, but for whatever reason, she had never gotten the satisfaction.

“Fucking **_shit_**.” Anya hissed, her breath misting before her. She glanced down the empty roads impatiently.  “Where the fuck –“

A car rounded the corner, and honked at Anya, slowing down to roll up alongside her.

Raven poked her head out the window. “Ey, pretty lady – how much?”

Anya cocked her head, eyes in a death-dealing glare. “Very funny – I'm sorry, are you sure you’re old enough to drive?”

Raven nodded, a bitter smile cracking her lips. “Yup, that’s the classic – hey, you know the jokes about me being a fetus reflect more poorly on you than it does to me, you know?”

“Whatever,” Anya said, hopping into the passenger seat. “By the way, your little gambit didn't really pay off – Lexa hasn't replied to me once.” 

“Uh,” Raven said, as a-matter-of-factly as she pulled from the curb. “I’ll have you know that I caught Clarke coming home from that ordeal, and I found it most amusing.”

“Huh.” Anya furrowed her brow, watching street-lights blink past her as they drove into the city. “I wonder why Lexa hasn't said anything yet.”

“Maybe Clarke banged her into a post-coital coma.” Raven suggested.

That at least earned a half-snort from Anya. “So, you think they’re –“

“Absolutely.” Raven said. “No way they aren't.”

Anya grinned. “Lucky you, Lexy-poo.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp it was supposed to be the same length as the others (around 3k) but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ whatddaya gonna do
> 
> bonus points for anyone who can work out what Lexa said aha  
> comments are welcome!


	8. (Just) Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya visits Raven's loft, Clarke brings Lexa coffee, and the two enjoy a quiet moment of reflection in the garden.

**The Same Evening**

Raven pushes a steaming mug of coffee across her workbench-cum-breakfast bar. “So, what did you think of dinner?”

Anya nodded her thanks, taking the coffee. “It was good. I didn’t know the Ark did seafood.”

“They don’t.” Raven laughed. “But I know the guys in the kitchen. Monty’s a star - he’ll make me anything, the beautiful man he is.”

“You know the kitchen?” Anya smiled, her gaze curious and investigative. “Always full of surprises.”

There would have been time for a slow sink into comfortable silence, if Anya’s phone hadn’t buzzed at that exact moment.

> [Lexy2sexy (Lexa Woods), 11.42PM]  
> Sorry I missed your messages Anya, I am sick. I was sleeping all afternoon and night.

“Who is it?” Raven asks, curious, with a slight tinge of hesitation in her voice.

Anya hums. “It’s Lexa.” She says, tapping out her response. 

> _[You, 11:42PM]  
> _ _Np lexy. How are u feeling? Do u want me to bring u some food?_
> 
> _[Lexy2sexy (Lexa Woods), 11.46PM]  
> _ _Thank you, but I’m feeling a lot better already. And I already ate._
> 
> _[You, 11:00PM]  
> _ _I bet u did  
> _ _Eheh_
> 
> _[Lexy2sexy (Lexa Woods), 11.50PM]  
> _ _What  
> _ _Anya, what does that mean_
> 
> _[You, 11:00PM]  
> _ _HEH_
> 
> _[Lexy2sexy (Lexa Woods), 11.50PM]  
> _ _Anya?  
> _ _ANYA_

Raven glances over again, hovering. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Anya chuckled to herself, pocketing her phone.

Raven narrowed her eyes. “So…”

Anya smirks. She has to admit, the not-but-totally-is-love life of her pseudo-sister has been more interesting to her than she’d ever care to say. She imagines that Raven must be interested for the sake of Clarke, too.

Shame, then, that she doesn’t have anything more scandalous to report.

“No dice - she says they just slept. Like, _properly_ slept.” Anya mused. “Well, if you take her word for it anyway.”

Raven cocked her head. “Don’t you think it’s funny that we use the term _sleeping with someone_ to mean fucking them, when sleeping is the last thing they’re doing?”

“Probably not as much as you.” Anya teased, glancing around the room. “So, this is it, huh?”

“Yup,” Raven huffed proudly, rapping her knuckles against the stainless steel workbench. “Mi casa, mi taller.”

Anya chuckled. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Anya wandered around the room, pausing every now and then to blow at her coffee, sipping softly and savouring the bitter-sweet burn that ran down her throat. Raven’s loft was as much a scrapyard as it was a living space it seemed; wrecked and scavenged heaps of metal that vaguely resembled car frames and fridges and everything between lay discarded over benches like the victim of a half-assed autopsy, or hanging from the rafters on heavy hooks and chains, pieces dismantled with nuts and bolts and broken framing strewn across the floor.

Anya had no idea how Raven got any of it up here, the third floor of a sizeable apartment block, but she refrained from asking.

Partially to retain the air of mystique.

Partially due to a quiet appreciation of Raven’s resourcefulness.

And partially due to the fact that it was probably somewhat illegal to contain all this heavy machinery on the highest floor of a building.

So Anya decided it was probably best to let Raven keep the specifics to herself.

It seemed that amongst all the chaos and wreckage that was Raven’s pet Projects, the tool-shelf was the only thing that seemed to be organized. Where Anya would imagine others would have a bookshelf, Raven had an industrial-sized storage frame, with more heavy utility machinery than she could have ever imagined existed.

In the back of the loft was Raven’s personal quarters, yet even those weren’t safe from the scrapyard charm that seemed to have seeped into every corner of the loft. The sink was a heavy ceramic unit, sitting on a makeshift rig as if it had been stolen from a victorian cottage. Her breakfast bar was a stainless steel trolley, rows and rows of herbs and spices and sauces and condiments on the bottom rung. Her actual fridge sat in a chain harness a few feet off the floor - Raven had said it was necessary so the cables could actually reach the fridge, plus she could get under the fridge to clean it.

Anya took her word for it.

Beside her kitchen and dining area was a makeshift study. Her computer setup gave Anya a headache; She had six monitors and an absolute nightmare of cables.

The bathroom was an industrial sized sanitation area - sixteen showerheads in a row for regulated showertime, and trough-sized steel sinks that Anya was pretty sure she could have used as a bathtub. At least Raven’s bed was normal - a king-size, resting on a layer of rugs, with two or three covers and comforters strewn across it.

And yet, despite how exciting and intriguing and mysterious as it all was, there was a thought that kept nagging at the back of Anya’s head. To be honest, it had been nagging at Anya since Raven had said she had something to show her back in her loft.

_But hell if I’m going to seem eager._

Still, her curiosity was at a boiling point. “Alright then,” Anya finally conceded, holding the mug between her hands. “I’ll bite - what did you want to show me?”

Raven smirked devilishly. “Well, actually - I, uh, hadn’t really _thought_ too hard about that part to be honest.”

_You little shit._

Anya sighed, rolling her eyes, an amused grin tugging at her lips. “Ah, _right_ ”

Raven bit her lip, her expression like a child who had gotten away with something.

“Didn’t think it would work, you know? And now you’re - well, you’re here, and _fuck me,_ I haven’t got the slightest -”

“Fuck you?” Anya raised a brow. _Now there’s an idea._

To be fair, Anya had to give Raven credit. She didn’t flip, she didn’t flush red with embarrassment, she didn’t shy away, hot and awkward. Still, it caught her off-guard, and it was too obvious that the cogs in her head were spinning in over-drive trying to process what the fuck had just happened.

Raven kept remarkable composure, but Anya’s sharp eyes caught every little delicious detail; fingers tightened around Raven’s own mug of coffee, just the slightest flicker of nervous excitement in her lips, and Anya could even swear she could see sweat beginning to bead at her brow, as if liquid bravado was escaping from her and dissipating into midnight mist.

“N-no, you know, it’s just - uh, like, _a figure of speech_ , you know, like **_fuck_ ** _me, that’s a h-hot -_ hot cup of … coffee, you know?”

“Really?” Anya pouted playfully. “That’s too bad.”

Raven’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “Not that - I mean, you’re _gorgeous_ , and I’d love to - uh, whoa, I-I mean - I can’t say that, I didn’t mean that, I just -”

Anya laughed - a real, genuine laugh. She liked Raven, she really did. Raven was the antithesis to most of the people she had come to find populating her everyday life. There was something so genuine, so open, so down-to-earth about her.

Really, Anya should give her a break.

She sauntered over to Raven, leaning against the counter beside her, taking in every detail that Raven gave standing before her, the quiet, excited quiver, the steady, controlled breathing, the wide, dark eyes.

“Relax.” Anya said, sipping her coffee. “I’m just teasing.”

Raven snorted, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, well - Duh. I just run my mouth when I’m - you know?”

 _Such bravado._ Anya wanted to push it, prod it, tease it. She wanted to see how far it went, how strong the guise was, how heavy the cloak was.

And she wanted to see it shattered, and drink from whatever well that sprung from it.

Raven was glancing away, desperately and failing to avoid Anya’s heavy gaze, almost every ounce of energy in her body focused on maintaining her aloof composure.

_It would be perfect._

Anya reached out with her free hand.

“I’d like to see you run your mouth over -”

And that was all Anya managed.

Long fingers met a lithe arm, and gently ran the softest touch along Raven’s forearm. Anya had intended for it to be subtle, maybe send a chill down Raven’s spin, but her fingers might as well have been a live wire.

“ _A-ah_ ! Whoa - **_Fuck_ **!”

Raven jumped at the touch, at the whisper. Anya’s words were drowned out by the sudden sound of shattering ceramic as Raven sent Anya’s mug crashing against the floor, ceramic shards scattering across the loft, scalding coffee splashing.

“ _Shit_ !” Anya hissed. “Ah - hey, _hey_ , **_hey_ ** it’s -”

“Fuck!” Raven grabbed “ _Fuck_ \- did I get any on you? Are you okay - are you burnt?”

Anya glanced down, running her fingers over her jeans, heart bursting from her chest. Her gaze flicked back up to meet Raven’s eyes, desperately checking Anya’s arms for pink welts, a handful of hand towels dabbing against Anya’s dry midriff, searching for a coffee stain.

Anya hadn’t been splashed, but neither of them seemed to care or realize. Slowly, Raven’s panic seemed to subside, and her hands slowed to press against Anya’s shirt.

She avoided Anya’s gaze. “You, uh… You’re alright, yeah?” Raven repeated quietly. “You didn’t get burned, did you?”

Anya gazed down at Raven, watching nervous, hesitant eyes and a quivering lip. She saw the softness of her skin, each strand of dark hair that fell across her face - they clearly hadn’t realized how close they were.

Almost of it’s own accord, her hand rose to cup Raven’s cheek, the first touch causing her to jump again, sending goosebumps and shivers down her body. It was strange, but Anya could have sworn that she felt the same chill too.

_I’m okay._

_I’m fine._

_Don’t worry about it._

_Don’t worry about me._

_You didn’t get me._

_It’s alright._

She had spent so many years recycling those phrases, until they had lost all meaning. Now, there was someone else, someone beside Lexa, a person who she had known all her life, that seemed to care about her.

Genuinely, and wholeheartedly so.

When Anya didn’t pull her hand away, Raven leaned into the touch more closely, letting Anya draw her gaze upwards, until she met her gaze, widening as she saw the look of fervor, of passion, of -

“Who cares?” Anya whispered.

She drew Raven’s lips to hers, only finding a moment’s pause as they lingered less than an inch between them before they met, savouring the first soft touch, searching, wary and careful and probing, waiting for a moment of hesitancy, of regret, of distaste to appear, but it never did.

It was hardly a chaste kiss, and yet there was something delicate about the way they moved, the way they turned and touched and sighed into the other’s advances, as if to say _finally, I’m glad we’re here, but let’s enjoy the moment._

Paper towels falling to the floor, Raven’s hands grasped at Anya’s shirt, drawing her closer, sinking deeper, a soft gasp, a frenzy of flesh and tongue and a quiet, shuddering moan -

Raven pulled away, their chests heaving in tandem, Anya’s hands cupping Raven’s cheek and the back of her neck, Raven’s own clutching handfuls of Anya’s shirt and jacket. They stared, eyes burning in the dark, reflections of lamps and hanging lights dancing between them.

“Stay the night?” Raven huffed.

“Thought you didn’t have a plan.” Anya grinned, her tongue tracing the tips of her teeth. The flame inside her roared as she watched Raven’s eyes follow the careful movements of her tongue.

“I’m improvising.” Raven smirked, a glint in her eyes.

 

**Days Later**

As it turned out, getting sick and falling asleep on one another was one hell of an icebreaker. The Plague Event™, as it came to be called, led to Clarke and Lexa becoming fast friends (and only friends, to the constant chagrin of Raven and Anya), passing friendly smiles and _how’s-your-day-going?’s_ in the hallway.

And slowly, like a tended cutting, it grew.

It started in little gestures, treats left outside the other’s door in the hallway when one would go out shopping, cookies or snack-cakes, the occasional packet of tea. There was a distinct difference between what Clarke left Lexa, and what Lexa left Clarke, though both parties seemed to enjoy what the other had to offer.

And so it evolved in turn. For example, every now and then, when Clarke found herself waking up far too early, she’d take a walk around the block to the local coffee joint. If she was feeling particularly generous, she’d even bring something back for Lexa.

Unsurprisingly, she seemed to feel generous fairly often.

Clarke had Lexa’s coffee order memorized from the moment Lexa corrected her.

“ _C-Clarke_?”

Lexa stood at the door, bleary-eyed, bundled up in a fluffy robe that Clarke had bought her the day after she had gotten over The Plague Event™. The sight warmed Clarke more than the coffee did.

“Hey there, _neighbour_.” Clarke grinned, thrusting forward a small takeaway cup. “Brought you something.”  

Lexa took the drink almost instinctively, glancing at her wristwatch on her free hand.

“Clarke, it’s… It’s quarter-past five in the mo- _o-o-orning_.” Lexa stifled a yawn.

“I thought you said you woke up early?”

“Not _this_ early, Clarke. I was up late and - “

Maybe Lexa had a point - perhaps it _was_ too early, because at that moment, Clarke stopped paying attention. She had never been a heavy sleeper, and often woke up in the middle of the night and struggled to return to slumber. Being a professional artist however, left her with plenty of opportunities to nap throughout the day, a blessing which she relished.

Coupled with an inexcusably adorable sleepy Lexa, Clarke might as well have drifted off to a pleasant daydream right then and there.

“-Clarke?”

“Hmm?” Clarke said, lost in her thoughts, and in Lexa’s wild, wavy hair.

_She’s wearing her glasses, oh my god. Look at her. Adorable._

Lexa opened her mouth, as if to continue, but for a moment she too seemed lost, dazed by the scent of freshly roasted coffee.

“What is this?”

“Macchiato.”

Lexa gazed with inquisitive eyes. “How did you know?”

Clarke smirked. “A little bird told -”

“Anya.” Lexa interjected.

Clarke paused, mouth half open, the pleased look faltering slightly as Lexa’s eyes pierced her visage.

Clarke had gone through so much effort to weedle Lexa’s coffee order out of Anya as well.

Lexa popped the lid, breathing deep, and sipping gently. “Thank you, Clar - wait, is this one shot, or two?”

“Er,” Clarke furrowed her brow. “One, i think.”

Lexa sighed. “Anya always did get my coffee wrong. Oh, she,” Lexa laughed at Clarke’s confused expression. “She forgets I need an extra shot. You know, to, um…  to _properly_ wake up.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, chuckling. “Right, well, I’ll remember that next time.”

Lexa smiled, waving a goodbye as Clarke turned and fumbled with her keys, and disappeared back into her apartment. Lexa closed her own door, leaning against the doorframe, smiling into the darkness, the scent of freshly brewed coffee thick on her.

She bit her lip as her heart fluttered.

_There’s going to be a next time?_

 

**Days later still**

Clarke _tsked_ , laying down her pen for the fifth time since she started an hour ago. Her spot from her balcony is surprisingly picturesque - an afternoon sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden curtain halfway across the city, a heavy shadow chasing the edge.

Clarke has all but overcome The Plague Event™. Her sketchpad lies open in front of her, a few lines etched here and there, but it still waits for a dedicated beginning. On the balcony, it seems to be a perfect spot to build her portfolio for the upcoming gallery event, and yet -

Inspiration eludes her. Clarke groans audibly, louder than she wants to, but **_fuck it_ ** , there’s no-one around and hell, even if there was someone to hear her swearing, it’s not like she’d care.

She’s _frustrated_.

Clarke hasn’t been able to put a single line to paper, let alone a brushstroke to canvas, since she moved into this apartment, and the weeks leading up to the submissions deadline were disappearing uncomfortably fast.

Clarke scans the horizon again. Clouds drifted lazily across the sky, a man steps out of a store and snags his bag on the doorknob. A dog plods merrily down the street with a ball in his mouth, and couple enjoy an intimate moment outside a cafe.

A girl kicks a half-inflated volleyball around in her backyard, and two kids share a cone, giggling to each other. An elderly lady chats animatedly with a grocer, and a man stops in his path, hesitantly eyeing a beehive hanging precautiously above the sidewalk.

A taxi swerves out of the way of a van backing out of a driveway. A train sounds its horn in the distance, and several birds flee from the roar. Somewhere else, a baby cries, and a motorcycle roars its engine.

And yet, **_nothing_ **. None of it makes her feel anything in the way of inspiration, nothing that makes her want to capture a wayward moment on paper, to immortalize it in lead and ink and paint. She doesn’t care for these little windows into other people’s lives, and they’re doing nothing to pique her intrigue.

Not right now, anyway. They’re not the inspiration she needs.

Clarke closes her eyes, and lifts her glass of whiskey to her forehead, ice cubes clinking pleasantly as she feels the searing cold glass press against her skin.

She can hear an airplane flying overhead, car tires screeching in the distance. She can hear the baby continue to cry somewhere. She can hear the sound of digging -

 _Digging_?

Clarke opens her eyes, leaning over the balcony in search of the sound of scratching earth and soil. The culprit is close, close enough to be in the apartment’s communal garden.

Clarke hadn’t been down there before - she hadn’t really found much of a reason to visit it. She scanned what she could see from her balcony; two large trees sat at either end of the greenery, the grass stretching long enough for kids to have a decently sized game of football. A few picnic tables dotted the edges, and a barbeque pit sat closed and locked next to a small gazebo, paint chipped and peeling, but nonetheless quaint.

And along the back wall was a flowerbed, bare and unwelcoming, where Lexa was hunched over and stabbing at the dirt.

_What on earth is that goofball doing._

Clarke mused, smiling to herself. She found herself staring - It was clearly Lexa kneeling in the grass, wavy hair tied up in a messy tail, dressed in a singlet, flannel wrapped around her waist, dutifully attacking the soil with a small hand-trowel.

After another solid minute of staring, Clarke bundled up her tools and stepped out the front door without a second thought.  

The garden was a lot larger in person that it seemed from her balcony. There was enough space that a few groups could comfortably share the grounds, but it seemed on this afternoon that they had the green all to themselves. Even the few trees that sat in the corners offered some small modicum of privacy.

But not enough to hide Lexa from Clarke’s curiosity. Unfortunately for Lexa, she was too engrossed in her task to hear the crunching of grass beneath footsteps signalling Clarke’s approach.

“Hey, whatcha doi-”

Lexa jumped “Gah - **_Christ_ **!”

“-Shit!” Clarke laughed. “Fuck, sorry! Didn’t mean to startle.”

Lexa glanced up, eyes wide and chasing her breath. “No, it’s… it’s okay. I, um -” She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm. “Just doing some… gardening, I suppose.”

Clarke grinned. “I didn’t have you pegged as much of a green thumb.”

“It’s meditative.” Lexa said, returning to stab at the earth. “And besides, these … they’re too big for the planter now, so I, you know…”

Clarke’s eyes fell on the planter of tulips that Lexa had gestured to her - the ones that she had bought for Lexa, what felt like a century ago. They had bloomed, what was a few bright stems had become a small bustling bush.

Her heart soared. “These - wow, these are beautiful. How did - what - “

“Anya and I were taught horticulture, how to take cuttings and things like that, at the first house we were sent to.” Lexa smiled, her hands pausing for a moment. “I find it... calming. It soothes me.”

A breeze rolled through the garden, quiet and tranquil. The light of the setting sun broke over the boundary, sending shadows dancing against the brickwork of their apartment.

Lexa cleared her throat, drawing her slowly from her reverie. “And what brings you to the garden?”

“Ah,” Clarke shifted her armful of items sheepishly. “Actually, I was hoping to find some inspiration for my works.”

Colour drained from Lexa’s face, and her body stiffened.

“You don’t intend to draw **_me,_ ** do you?”

Clarke cocked her head, an amused smirk on her face. “Well, I wasn’t planning to,”

_A complete lie._

”But now that you mention it -”

“ **No**.” Lexa said flatly.

“What?”

“Do not draw me, Clarke.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Lexa flushed, straining for excuses. “Because it won’t be… I’m sure - surely, you must be able to find **_something else_ ** for your art?”

A soft blush had settled into her cheeks. Clarke knelt beside Lexa, her free hand resting gently on Lexa’s bare shoulder. The touch wasn’t intimate, but reassuring. Lexa seemed to relax, if only slightly, beneath Clarke’s palm.

“Look at you,” Clarke chuckled. “So shy-”

Lexa’s head snapped up, glaring at Clarke. “ **_Nonsense._ ** ”

Clarke gave a quizzical look. “Alright, then you won’t mind if I just sit over here and just sketch whatever I see, then?”

_Catch 22. I think. Maybe. Whatever._

Lexa pouted, clearly out of options. Slowly, she nodded, and returned her attention to the flowerbed, stabbing at the dirt with renewed vigor. Clarke retreated a few feet away to where one of the taller trees offered shade and settled against the sturdiness of the trunk, sitting between thick, snaking roots. It gave the impression of an earthen throne, and was much more comfortable than it seemed.

To which was more comfortable than Lexa was. Her jaw was tensed, and even with Clarke’s reassurance, seemed to move mechanically under Clarke’s blue gaze.

Clarke laughed. “You know, if you’re intentionally trying to demotivate me,” She said flatly. “You’re doing a great job, robot lady.”

“Clarke-”

“Kidding!” Clarke held up her hands in defense. “Just, uh, just kidding. Tell… Tell me how you take cuttings, and stuff like that.”

Lexa glanced over, brow furrowed and eyes wary.

“You want to know?”

“Yeah,” Clarke said brightly. “I mean, anything that takes _your_ interest must be something worth doing… right?”

Lexa stared at Clarke, eyes wide and unsure. She could tell it was a sensitive subject, Lexa’s past, but they were friends now. Friends talk, and friends help. Right?

That’s what friends are supposed to do, and Clarke wanted nothing more than for Lexa to see her as that, as a friend, and maybe she wouldn’t unravel the whole story today, but she needed to start somewhere.

In that garden, on that afternoon, there were a few moments of silence as Lexa scratched at the dirt, as Clarke watched on with soft gaze, waiting. Waiting for something, a sign, for the air to settle between them. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but she knew the moment had come when it did, resting like an aura of reassurance, or a new fire, soft and warm and crackling to life with kindling.

Slowly, Clarke could see a smile tug at the corner of Lexa’s lips, glancing down at the trowel in her hands, and slowly, she began to speak.

“Well,” Lexa said quietly, slowly. “It’s a fairly easy process; the first thing you need to do is know where to cut…”

In listening to Lexa talk, Clarke almost forgot the pad and pencil that sat in her lap. Minutes passed before Clarke picked up her pencil again, but when she did, the pages seemed to fill themselves.

She could sit there for hours, nestled among the roots in their garden, listening to Lexa talk.

“... actually, you don’t take cuttings of most tulips, since you need to plant the bulb…”

Clarke did well by Lexa to begin with, sketching the shapes of fallen leaves, the outline of the sky and the gazebo that sat at the other end of the garden. She caught rough shapes of the pot of tulips before her, before she grunted and gave up on perfecting each petal.

But really, it was only a matter of time before she drew Lexa.

She started with her hands, covered in dirt and soil, soft red bruises appearing in the pads of her hands and fingers as she worked, occasionally the slick of sweat from wiping her brow.

“... not like tulips, although orchids would be nice…”

Then she moved onto her clothes, trying to show the way Lexa’s singlet hugged her midriff, the way the fabric of her flannel fell around her hips, the way her jeans bunched up around the cuffs of her boots.

“... and you can usually find special pot mixes for different flowers, which is important…”

Clarke hadn’t realized she had moved onto facial features until she found herself staring at Lexa’s lips, trying to capture it in geometric shapes. Soon, her pad was full of wide eyes and slender noses, of plump, soft lips and strands of hair tucked behind ears, of soft skin and strong arms, of expressions, of character -

_Of Lexa._

“- Clarke?”

“Hm?”

“Are you listening?”

“I _was._ ” Clarke glanced up, grinning sheepishly. She blew softly, brushing at her pad.

Lexa huffed, face hot and flushed from her efforts. Before her was a row of planted bulbs, where the fruits of her labour would soon sprout anew and fill the bed with tulips.

The idea that the garden would soon have a row of flowers, flowers that she had given Lexa, filled Clarke with a quiet euphoria.

Lexa dusted off her hands, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her flannel, and strolled over to where Clarke was sitting in the shade.

Lexa stood with hands on her hips. “May I see?”

“Hm?” Clarke repeated, touching up the edges of her latest sketch.

“I want to see what you’ve drawn, Clarke.”

“Oh - Um, hold on, it’s not _quite_ -”

“Clarke, as the subject of your drawings, I feel _very_ much entitled to seeing what you drew.”

“Excuse me, who said I was going to draw you at all? If I recall, You said you didn’t want me to draw you -”

“True, but you did, didn’t you?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that statement at this point in time.”

“Clarke.”

“Please, you’re interrupting the flow of my artistic process.”

“ _Clarke._ ”

Clarke paused, witty retort on the tip of her tongue, but as she gazed up at Lexa standing over her, there was nothing she wanted more than to give in.

_Er, give in to her demand - I mean, show her, you know, my work. Fucking - you know what I mean._

Clarke mentally scolded herself for being so defensive in her own mind.

“Here,” Clarke blushed, flipping her pad. Lexa crouched down beside her, her eyes growing wide as she scanned the page.

In black and white, outlines showing in rough draft and with a multitude of self-diagnosed errors, Clarke had set Lexa onto the page. In the sketch, Lexa kneeled with delicate poise, a row of not only tulips, but roses and orchids and everything Lexa had mentioned in bloom before her, as leaves fell from the tree above. Careful detail had gone into the work, but none more so in capturing lexa herself, her slender hands, her lithe frame, a gentle expression upon her face, her wavy hair and every small idiosyncrasy, every small trick and tip and twist of her wrist, of her subtle smile, of the depth that she saw in Lexa’s eyes, that Clarke could find and replicate, lay upon paper, captured in graphite.

“Clarke, this…” Lexa said quietly. “This is _beautiful_.”

“Well,” Clarke laughed proudly. “It’s pretty easy to get beautiful if the subject is beautiful.”

Lexa froze, the pink of exhaustion giving way to a deep red flush. Clarke beamed at first, then broke into laughter.

The sun was beginning to disappear behind the city skyline, and leaves floated freely around them.

_This is what friends do, right?_

 

**The Following Day**

“Ugh,” Raven grunted. “I hate Sam, he’s the **_worst_ **.”

Clarke glanced over from her easel, to where Raven sat on her couch. “Tell me why you watch this show again?”

Raven spoke between mouthfuls of pasta. “Because it’s so satisfying to watch these fuckboys get rejected? Seriously, Griffin, we used to _binge_ this show in Uni.”

“ **_Used_ ** to,” Clarke said, returning to her painting. “I stopped watching after they marched out the same row of generic white dudes for the fiftieth time.”

Clarke raised a brush to the canvas, painting soft, delicate strokes. She wasn’t quite sure why she was trying so hard to be careful - she had paint splattered all the way up to her elbows already.

“Psht, that’s why it’s worth watching, Griff. I mean, she’ll eventually end up with a guy that doesn’t deserve her, but up until then it’s so satisfying watching these men _squirm_.”

“Have I ever told you that you’d make a great evil genius?”

“Please, you don’t need to tell me - I already _know_ I am.”

Clarke’s phone rang, interrupting Raven’s moment of self-gratification. She hurriedly wiped her hands on her dutiful smock, the single article of clothing protecting the rest of her wardrobe from a barrage of paints. She pulled her phone from her pocket, and glanced at the caller ID.

Raven glanced over. “Who is it?”

“It’s Lexa.” Clarke replied.

“Ooh, what’s your _girlfriend_ up to?”

Clarke rolled her eyes at Raven, pouting. “She’s not my **girlfriend** , Rae.”

Which, would have been fine, if Clarke had not immediately followed her impudence by picking up Lexa’s call, and opening with, “Hey babe, what’s up?”

Lexa’s voice came in loud and clear, sharp, her voice breaking slightly. “ _B-babe?_ ”

Clarke scrunched her face, cringing at herself. She was glad, for at that moment she knew Raven was shooting her the classic smug Raven face.

You know the one.

“Yeah, I, uh - you know, like - you’re like, my _babe_ , y-you know?”

_That’s good, Griffin. Just keep diggin’._

“ _Um… no._ ”

“Don’t worry about it.” Clarke said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What’s up?”

Lexa paused, as if collecting her resolve. Clarke heard a deep breath from the other end, before Lexa spoke again.

“ _I was thinking of going to the hardware store this afternoon. They have a gardening section and there is a sale on flowers. I was wondering… Wondering if you would like to come with me?_ ”

Clarke made the mistake of glancing over to Raven, who was rudely simulating sexual acts with her fingers.

 _That’s not even how lesbian sex works Raven!_ Clarke mouthed angrily. _You know this!_

_“Clarke? Are you there?”_

“Oh - uh, sure! Sounds like fun. What time?”

“We can leave around three?”

“Works for me. I’ll see you then.”

“Good. See you then, Clarke.”

Clarke wandered over to Raven as she ended the call, and dropped into the seat beside her.

“So,” Raven said slowly. “What’s happening today?”

“I’m going to the hardware store with Lexa.”

Raven smirked. “How romantic.”

Clarke grabbed a pillow and swung it at Raven, catching her in the arm.

“It’s not a date!”

_Was it?_

_Was it a date?_

_No, it probably wasn’t._

_Maybe Lexa just wants me to help her carry some things._

_It’s not a date._

_But what if it was?_

_Maybe it’s a date._

Clarke glanced down at her paint splattered smock.

_Fuck, I’ve gotta get changed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i mean i planned on doing this a lot earlier but then i decided for some sick reason that i would read my immortal and i think i spent a few days recovering from that.
> 
> man everyone gets startled so easily. 
> 
> also, i have an extremely rudimentary understanding of horticulture and sketching so soz lol 
> 
>  
> 
> Another plotless bit of fluff ;) to be honest, i'm not completely sure about the garden scene - maybe i'll rewrite that after reflection, but i wanted to release it rather than have it sit in my draft folder stewing and fermenting  
> Thanks for reading! Comments always welcome :)


	9. Flower Power

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa wander through the botanical section of a hardware superstore.

**In Clarke's Apartment, Mid Afternoon.**

Raven feels like she's forgetting _something._ Something someone told her to do _._ She frowns, but her gaze doesn't leave the television. 

 _Oh, that’s right._  

“ _Raaaaaven,”_ Warbles the Clarke in Raven’s memory. “ _Let  meeeee knoooow when it’s two o’ clooooock so I can get ready for my outing with Lexaaaaaa.”_

_Why does Clarke sound like a ghost in my head?_

_Anyway._ “Hey, Clarke,” Raven says, turning her head slightly, casually brushing sweet-potato-chip-dust off her shirt.  “What time were you supposed to be meeting up with Lexa again?”

Clarke doesn't turn away from her easel either. “Uh,” She mutters, carefully adding a few strokes, savouring the sensation of soft scratches against canvas. “Around three, I think. Why?”

Raven scrunches up her face, trying to do the mental arithmetic. _I watched… three episodes? And then I went to get snacks… And then I phoned Anya for like… So it should be around… Ah, fuck it._  

Raven huffs, struggling to sit up from her spot on Clarke’s couch to pull her phone from her pocket.

“It’s,“ She slams a handful of chips into her face. “Ish toof hurty, Cark.”

Clarke wrinkles her brow in disgust. “Ugh, can you not talk with your mouth full? It’s so gross. I _practically_ see everything in your – _don’t!_ ”

Raven glares at Clarke with mischief in her eyes, mouth wide open and tongue jutting out as far as she can stick it, crumbs and half-mashed sweet potato chips like wet, orange sand. Raven snorts and ducks instinctively as Clarke aims a brush at her, but decides against the act of aggression when she realizes she’ll slash her own couch with paint.

“God, Griffin,” Raven quips. “I was just trying to be a _good friend_.”

Clarke grunts. “I was too busy being repulsed to hear what you were saying.”

Raven rolls back, snuggling into an indent in the couch that she’s been working on all afternoon. “I said it’s two-thirty. You told me to remind you when it’s close to –“

Every muscle in Clarke’s body visibly tenses up.

“It’s two-thirty already?!” Clarke shouts. “Shit – I, **fuck**! Damnit, I need to get _ready_ – Oh, _god_ I –“

“Yuuuup.” Raven chirps amusedly. “Look, I told you to make it earlier, but you were like _oh no, no Rae I’ll be fine, I probably won’t even need you to remind me since I'm punctuality incarnate and_ –“

“Fuck _you!_ ” Clarke shouts, as she snatches up a fresh set of clothes from her laundry hamper. “I asked you to remind me at **two!”**

Raven opens her mouth to retort, but shrugs. “Yeah, I guess that _was_ my bad.”  

Raven mashes another handful of chips into her mouth. She ignores Clarke marching into the bathroom, flipping birds and throwing her stained smock down onto the floor. 

 

 

**A hurried shower and prep time later.**

Clarke steps out of her bathroom exactly eighteen minutes later, steam billowing out around her. She feels like an otherworldly beast emerging from a cryogenics pod and _that’s the last time I watch one of Raven’s Sci-fi horror flicks._

She smooths out her blouse, shifting slightly in her dark jeans. Was it too much? Was it overkill? She _was_ going with her boots, so that was points in favour of looking casual and appropriate. On the other hand, she wasn't exactly a huge fan of blouses.

But Lexa might be though, and the more Clarke thought about it, the more she could come around to the idea of blouses too. It _did_ look good on her, after all.

Not that she was trying to show off, or anything.

Raven’s voice floated from the living room. “ **Ugh** , Bryce, your personality is as fake as your tan.”

Clarke laughed, collecting her smock from the floor of the living room. “ _Harsh_ , Rae.”

Raven groaned. “He’s such a **fuckboy**. I swear, if he gets a rose, I’m out. I’m done. Fuck it, y’know, it’s just – hey, you look nice!”

Clarke glanced up, seeing Raven grinning at her from the couch.

Clarke gave a wavering grin. “Thanks. I was thinking, you know, something casual and… does it look casual? I mean, I know I just – it’s just that, I haven’t really gone shopping in a while, and maybe, well – cause – you know?”

Raven furrowed her brow. “No, not really.”

Clarke sighed, her shoulders slumping. Her feet found their way to the couch, letting her body sink into the seat beside Raven.

Raven passed a quizzical look. “Jeez, should I call Lexa and tell her you’re not feeling well or something?”

Clarke paused. She was facing the TV, eyes watching various generically attractive men saunter around a room on the television, but her mind was elsewhere.

“What’s wrong with me, Rae?”

Raven’s hand froze, a chip halfway to her face. “What’chu sayin’ Griff?”

Clarke scratched at the back of her neck. “My mind’s all over the place.”

Raven shrugged. “Is it Lexa?”

Clarke smirked bashfully. “It’s definitely Lexa.”

“So,” Raven said between crunches. “What’s the deal? You going to ask her out?”

Clarke groans. “That’s the thing. I think I want to but I just can’t – I don’t have _any_ idea what, or how… I don’t – I don’t know what’s wrong with me – it’s like, whenever I think about her, my mind goes _fucking_ nuts. It’s like I can’t sit still around her, like she’s got this… Aura. Like I'm a fucking computer and she’s a magnet.”

Raven scoffed. “Ugh, you’ve been spending too much time around Raven’s workshop.”

"Psht, at least it's proof  _I_ listen to you when  _you're_ talking." 

Raven threw a mock punch at Clarke, who gave a soft laugh. Clarke reclined, lowering her head to rest on Raven’s shoulder.

“Rae, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she’s intimidatingly attractive.”

“Need I remind you that you two literally slept together? I have noticed, actually.” Raven added, when Clarke glared her down. “And damn, I’m lucky it runs in the family.”

Clarke hummed, but it took a second for Raven’s sentence to register in Clarke’s mind.

“Family?” Clarke said inquisitively. “Who’s her – who have you met that’s in her family?”

“Anya. You know, her sister? Or, er – half sister? I can’t remember. To be fair, when she mentioned it, we were **_really_ ** drunk.”

Clarke stared up at Raven, who was happily munching away.

“Hold on,” Clarke said. “ _What?_ What – you’re talking to **Anya**? You – hold on, wait – **what**?!”

Raven hummed in acknowledgement. “Yup. For a little while now, actually.”

“A little while?” Clarke was sitting up at this point, staring at Raven incredulously. “What the _**fuck** _ – wait, so what’s going on between you two?”

“We’re – well I don’t know, really.” Raven said, with a cavalier attitude that grated at Clarke. _How could she be so relaxed about this?!_ “But she scratches my back, and I scratch hers, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

Clarke blinked, stunned. “Wait – so you’re sleeping with – Anya, Lexa’s – her non-sister, you – you and Anya?”  

“Yuuup.”

“Don’t **_yuuup_ ** me!” Clarke huffed. “Wait, the other day – when you were in here, you – you and Anya were in here!”

Raven shrugged, nodding sheepishly.

Clarke’s eyes were wild in surprise by now. “And you were going to tell me – when!?”

Raven laughed. “C’mon Griff, you don’t like it when I talk with food in my mouth. I thought I was doing you a favour sparing the details of my steamy love affair with a hot brunette, even though we _were_ literally just sleeping off a hangover. But hey,” She chomped the last remaining crumbs of sweet potato chips, and hurled the bag into a bin across the room. “I could write up an extensive report of our other rendezvouses. Ooh, we could get Lexa to write it up all fancy fanfiction-like!”

Clarke mentally barfed. “No thanks.” She sank into her couch further. Clarke gave Raven a moment's respite, before she piqued up again. “So, just like that, huh?”

“Just like that.” Raven clapped her hands, brushing flavour dust off her fingers. “Man, I don’t get it,” Raven turned from the TV, giving Clarke her full attention. She had a look on her face that spoke of amusement, and of soft concern. “You used to be all bravado and charm, Griff. Used to be that we’d hit up bars and you could approach half a dozen people, and get turned down by half a dozen more, and you’d _still_ be the beacon of confidence, and now you meet one girl and it’s all gone to hell for you?”  

Clarke chuckled. “Like I said – _intimidatingly_ attractive.”

“But it’s more than that, isn't it, Clarke?”

“What do you mean?”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Okay, I'm _literally_ not going to play this game this time. All I'm saying is… Take Anya and I for example. We knew what we wanted and we just… Went for it. I'm not saying that you need to jump into Lexa’s pants _tonight._ ” Raven smirked at the look of disgust that flashed over Clarke’s face. “But you want something to happen here, right? It’s not like some random at a bar, you lov – “

Clarke flinched. “ _Don’t_ say it.”

Raven paused. “Well, you know what I mean. So you need to go for it - what’s the worst that could happen?”

“God, every time someone asks _what’s the worst that could_ happen, something far worse than the worst happens.” Clarke sighed, mulling over Raven’s wisdom. “But yeah. You’re right.”

“Of course I’m fuckin’ right.” Raven clapped a hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Christ, I can’t believe I just needed to give _Clarke **motherfuckin** ’ Griffin _a pep-talk about asking someone out. What has the world come to?”  

“Crazy neighbours, Rae.” Clarke laughed. “Crazy, crazy neighbours.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Raven nodded. “By the way, totally changing your name in my phone to Clarke Motherfuckin’ Griffin.”

 

 

**At the botanical section, of their local hardware superstore.**

Despite Raven’s best non-efforts, Clarke was ready to go when Lexa knocked on Clarke’s door at exactly 3PM in the afternoon. They had their familiar bashful banter on the front-step of Clarke’s apartment, before Raven’s incessant snickering forced them, red-faced, into the hallway.  

“Wait,” Lexa paused, barely a few steps from Clarke’s door.

“What’s wrong?”

Lexa bit her lip. “Did you…”

Clarke raised an eyebrow at Lexa. “What?”

The flicker of a smile curled in the corner of Lexa’s mouth.

“Did you remember your keys, Clarke?”

“Oh, I – _oh._ ” Clarke rolled her eyes, as Lexa broke into humble smirk. “The great and mighty Lexa Woods deigns to bless me with her _humour._ ”

“I've written a few jokes in my life." Lexa proclaimed proudly. 

Despite Clarke’s external grumblings and internal giddiness at the quite frankly _adorable_ joke at her expense, Lexa's jest had had a far more profound effect than either of them had realized. They had  _joked_ with each other - long had they come to be comfortable and familiar in each other's company, but now it was obvious. No longer way or worried or finding wayward thoughts of the other circling in their mind (though a few of the latter would come around later). No, their words spoken to each other no longer held quivers or hesitation in their tones - they had become fast friends, and soon, they would become more. 

It was funny, how Clarke had come to know so many sides of Lexa since meeting her in that very hallway. She had seen the cool, aloof Lexa, the one with the sharp glasses and tight jeans, the cold and cutting one that was surrounded with an air of mystique. It was the first Lexa she had met, and in some ways it was the one that lingered in her mind. This Lexa was the one that most often came to mind whenever Clarke thought of Lexa. In many ways, that was probably why Clarke's heart raced whenever she did; she could practically feel herself melting under cool Lexa’s gaze.

But she had come to know others as well. She came to know the sensible shopper Lexa, the one who dressed _casually,_ but still looked better than all of the other people going about their grocery runs. It was the one that bridged the gap between logic and preference for Lexa – there would be a time that she had a structured approach when doing her shopping, but ever since Clarke had gone with her that one time, Lexa found herself wandering the aisles more casually, searching for snacks and treats that Clarke would have lit up at.

Of course, the only way Clarke knew this happened was that she’d occasionally find a small bag of cookies from an anonymous friend sitting outside her door when she came home.

Then there was sick Lexa, but the one to get to know her closest was sick Clarke, and to be honest, sick Clarke didn't have the best memory of the event. An illness and a near concussion weren't the best companions of recollection, but even sick Clarke remembered Lexa’s wavy hair, the glasses that just wouldn't sit properly, the oversized sweater, snuggled up warm under sheets or on the couch - 

Clarke would be lying if she didn't drift off every now and then, smiling into the ether with sick Lexa swirling in her thoughts.

And then, there was Lexa, the green thumb, the gardener. In a few ways, Clarke liked this one the best – watching her in the garden, in her company, Clarke couldn't help but notice that this was the truest Lexa she could find. Like Lexa had said herself, it was _meditative_. Perhaps that meant open too, because gardening was the time that Clarke saw Lexa smiling the most, even in silence.

It was the smile that Clarke cherished the most. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen a brighter smile.

And yet, it wasn't at that moment immediately apparent to Clarke that all those were the same and one, but it was going to happen soon. They weren't different people. They were all Lexa, or more appropriately, Lexa was all of them. All those wonderful facets, all those lovely little idiosyncrasies and habits, they were all one person, and Clarke was in love with all of it.

But for the time being, Clarke’s thoughts were abuzz with excitement at seeing gardener Lexa again.  

The hardware superstore wasn't that far away from their building, but then again living in the heart of the city, nothing really was. It was a great structure, basically a refurbished warehouse, with all walks of life pottering around the parking lot, large flat-bed trolleys laden with gardening supplies, woodwork, and all manner of greenery.

They wandered past aisle upon aisles of woodworking, power tools and paints, a thousand different types of nails, all quite impressive, but as soon as they stepped into the botanical section, Clarke knew it was all worth it.

“Oh my goodness,” Lexa whispered. “Just _look_ at all of it, Clarke.”

It was like a greenhouse that stretched on further than the eye could see; rows upon rows of verdant bloom and bustling colour, plants and flowers  of all shapes and sizes from sunflowers and chrysanthemums, baby’s breath and succulents and everything in between. It was a paradise of nature, and Clarke could hardly believe that a place as wonderful as this would ever need to use a sale to attract customers.  

In fact, Clarke was so amazed by the display of rampant growth before her that she didn't realize that Lexa’s hand was firmly clutching at her upper arm.

Lexa did though. “Sorry!” She squeaked, jumping away from Clarke. “I didn’t think there would be so much … _green._ ”  

Clarke laughed. Lexa grinned sheepishly, fiddling at the collar of her buttoned shirt that sat above her deep navy sweater. Clarke reached for Lexa’s arm, linking it with hers so they stood shoulder to shoulder

"Come on you goofball,” Clarke grinned, nudging Lexa gently. “Grab a basket and let’s start scoping this place out, otherwise the next thing you know it'll be night." 

It took a moment for Lexa to accustom herself to Clarke’s proximity, brushing shoulder to shoulder with each step, but when she did, both of them found it comforting. Even though Clarke let Lexa lead the way, they matched each other’s pace so well, weaving through the aisles, savouring in the soft crunch of gravel underneath their boot-steps.

And the _smell._ The air was fresh, crisp, with the slight wetness, not like sickening one of wet cloth, but rather one like new rain over a recently cut lawn. There was another scent, one that took Clarke far too long to figure out. It seemed to follow them, a slightly different one, that tingled her nose and settled a warmth in her stomach. It took too long for Clarke to figure out that it was Lexa’s perfume.

 _Oh, that is heavenly._ Clarke wondered if Lexa would find it weird if she asked her where she bought her perfume. Perhaps, but it'd be less weird than occasionally leaning over to Lexa to catch a whiff.

Their tour led them through many rows and aisles, occasionally placing a small planter into their basket, admiring the cacophony of colours and shapes, petals and scents and little gifts of nature.  

“Ah, birds of paradise!” Lexa said in awe, staring up at the tall blooms, an array of warm colours fanning out like the crest over the length of a green stalk. “I've never seen them grow so large before.”

“I've never seen these at all.” Clarke said, awestruck, craning her neck backwards. “They’re awesome.”

Lexa hummed. “They used to have these outside the – Um… outside the House.”  

Clarke could feel Lexa tense beside her, the grip around her arm tightening slightly, before easing off. They stood in silence, not uncomfortable, watching the flowers sway in the slight breeze that wafted around the botanicals. Sporadically spread were a few other customers wandering, a couple of children making a ruckus closer to the entrance, an elderly couple admiring some of the saplings by the exit, but for the most part they were allowed a modicum of peace and quiet. Clouds began to roll over the afternoon sky, and threatened more rain, but as long as they were under the glass, they were safe.

Clarke wanted Lexa to feel comfortable. Clarke wanted Lexa to know, that she was here if she wanted to talk, about anything. That’s what friends are for, right?

_Right?_

“Lexa,” Clarke said slowly, softly. “Do you want to… do you want to talk about it?”

Lexa opened her mouth, but no words came forth. Still, she didn't shake her head.

“Hey,” Clarke said, slipping her arm from Lexa’s to stand before her. She smiled warmly, thumbs rubbing slow but smooth circles around Lexa’s shoulders. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but just know that – that I'm here if you ever want to, okay?”

Clarke smiled, staring deep into the deep emerald of Lexa’s eyes, her lips slightly parted, as if a breath was hitched, and she could see the lump rising in her throat, her eyes glistening, shimmering slightly, her body tense, yet feeling the faintest shiver running through her. Clarke glanced downwards, smiling quietly to herself as Lexa sniffled slightly, running the cuff of her sleeve sheepishly to dab at the corners of her eyes, deep breaths.

When Lexa reached up to place a hand gently on Clarke’s, she nodded, linking her arm once again with Lexa’s – though this time, Clarke led the way. It was a few minutes before Lexa spoke, and when she did It was quiet, her voice hoarse from the muffled sobs, but nevertheless strong.

“I don’t remember much.” Lexa said, as they rounded into the next aisle. Ivy and ferns, unadorned and plain compared to the rest, but beautiful in their own right. “I don’t remember anything from before the home. It was everything I knew when I was a child. Anya… She says _she_ remembers more from where she came from, her family before the home. I don’t know who had the better deal between us.”

Clarke hummed quietly in acknowledgement, letting Lexa continue. “We were fortunate, in that they had the facilities to educate us while we waited for – while we waited.” They paused at a hanging basket, admiring the dainty leaves that hung from drooping branches. “The people were not unkind.”

“That’s good.” Clarke said, resting her free hand on Lexa’s linked arm. “And what…. What were the other kids like?”

The next section was filled with lavenders. The scent was almost overwhelming.

“They were nice too, for the most part.” Lexa said, placing their basket down to caress a stalk of lavender. “Anya got into some fights, but... most of them weren't _outright_ mean. The worst anyone ever did was ignore you – ignore _me_. It was hard making friends at first but… But Anya was kind to me. In a way, both of us were alone, so we found each other.”

“How did you two meet?”

Lexa laughed softly, picking up their basket, now with a small potted lavender plant nestled among their other choices.

“I tried to steal her cupcake.”

Clarke paused in her step, causing Lexa to sway in the sudden shift in momentum.

“You stole – Sorry,” Clarke added, seeing Lexa stumble slightly. “You _stole_ Anya’s cupcake?”

Lexa grinned. “ _Tried._ She had it in her room, saved from her birthday.” Lexa rolled her eyes as Clarke gave her a punishing glare. “We were _children_ , Clarke. And I say _tried_ again – she caught me trying to sneak it out of her room.”

“What did she do?” Clarke said, mock fury in her voice. “ _Theft is a serious crime, Lexa, even of cupcakes._ ”

“She took the cupcake back and punched me on the arm.” Lexa laughed. “Left quite a bruise for a few days, but… when I started tearing up, she sighed, and asked me if I wanted to share it.”

“How sweet,” Clarke mused. “Well, at least you learned your lesson, and you made a friend.”

Lexa chuckled. “I _did_ make a friend, but I wouldn't say I learned my lesson.”

Clarke side-eyed Lexa warily. “What exactly do you mean.”

Lexa bit her lip, looking downward sheepishly as she shuffled her steps in the gravel.  “Anya and I snuck into the kitchens later that week, stole a tub of jello from the fridge, took it up to the roof, and ate the whole thing.”

Clarke genuinely laughed, and Lexa blushed in guilty pride.

“Great,” Clarke said. “My neighbour and her childhood friend are a bunch of dessert thieves.”

“ _Master_ dessert thieves.” Lexa corrected.

The sun was halfway through its scheduled descent, falling under the sheet of clouds that coated the sky. A warm amber glare permeated the botanical section, warming the glass and the air around them.

“What about you?” Lexa said, squeezing Clarke’s arm softly. “What was your childhood like? What were your … your parents, what are they like?”

Clarke leaned down to study the scent of a few potted kitchen herbs. Perhaps she was going to take this cooking thing seriously. She hummed, examining a price tag.

“You know, I think you've asked me this before.”

Lexa pondered for a moment. “Your mother was a doctor, I think you said.”

Clarke smirked. “Well, I can’t fault your memory. Chief surgeon, actually, in a hospital halfway across the country.”

“Impressive.” Lexa said, brows raised. “I don’t think you mentioned your father, though.”

Clarke stopped. “No. He passed away when I was younger.”

She could see the look of horror spread across Lexa’s face.

“Clarke, I'm – I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I had no –“

Clarke’s eyes widened, grinning, despite the sorrow that reared its head each time she spoke of her father.

“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’s – It was a long time ago, and – Yeah, I know it’s sad and all that, but we've made our peace, and,” Clarke sighed. “It’s okay, really, it is. But thanks. For your concern.”

Lexa smiled, but there was still the faint lingering hint of sadness in her eyes. It wasn't pity, nor was it condescending sympathy that Clarke was used to hearing when she mentioned her father. No, from Lexa it was almost as if she knew what it was like to lose someone so close to them, someone who knew the pain and the heartache and the agonizing climb back up to normalcy that people rarely, if ever, remember. It was a kindred bond that she shared. Cut from stone and forged in flame, they knew the pain that had once torn at them, that had healed and now left them tougher.

“You’re incredibly strong, Clarke.” Lexa whispered.

Clarke nodded, a faint spot of pink in her cheeks. “Hey, speak for yourself. Look at where you are now, makin’ it big and all that.”

Lexa smiled. For a moment, the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, comfortable and complacent in each other’s company, warm and quietly appreciating the intimacy that they had shared. Maybe it was the flowers around them, the scent and soothing aromas in the air, or maybe it was the refraction of afternoon sunlight scattering around the glass greenhouse, but it all in the world felt right at that moment. There was no suffering in their reminiscence, and the memories that may have had been scars in the past were the pillars that they stood on today.

And it would have continued to be a lovely moment, if at that moment Lexa hadn’t said –

“Um, Clarke?” Somewhat urgently.

“Hm?” Clarke said, admiring the sunset sinking into the skyline. “What’s up?”

“Did you – did you happen,” Lexa said, glancing around. “Did you happen to see a sign for where the _bathrooms_ are?”

 _Oh._ Clarke glanced up, stifling a grin as she watched Lexa shifting from foot to foot.

“Er,” Clarke threw her gaze towards the entrance. “Ah, over there I think. Either that, or you could ask one of the –“

“Hold this,” Lexa said, thrusting the basket into Clarke’s arms. “I’ll be _right_ back.”

“Hey – wait!” Clarke said, as Lexa walked briskly towards the welcome desk. “Do you want me to come with –“

“No, it’s okay!” Lexa called over her shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

Clarke watched as Lexa hunted down the closest staff member, and shot off in the direction they pointed to.

Clarke chuckled to herself. _What a woman._ She glance down at the basket that Lexa palmed off on her, studying their curated purchases carefully. Lexa had a few shoots of orchids, roses and small baby breaths, a few fine ceramic pots for her own place, and one or two home-made scented oils. Clarke had gone for a more practical selection, tomato plants and the makings of a starter’s herb garden, something that she could hang off her balcony. She couldn't tell the difference between most of the herbs, but as long as she was learning, she thought she might as well dive off into the deep end.

Clarke wandered idly between aisles, smiling at the favourites that Lexa had picked out, but never straying too far from where Lexa had asked her to wait, so she wouldn't be lost, wondering where Clarke had ran off to. Lexa shouldn't have taken too long, but as fate would have it, Clarke didn't need to worry about waiting for Lexa alone.

Though she certainly would have preferred to.  

“Fancy seeing you here, Princess. Funny, I didn't have you pegged as much of a flower person.”

Clarke jumped slightly at the voice that dripped with machismo. She glanced around, eyes landing on a staff member standing with hands crossed across his chest, with greasy, shoulder length hair, and a nasty smirk.

“Finn.” Clarke said curtly. “Well, you never did buy me any, so I can see how you came to that conclusion.”

Finn snorted. “Yeah, well, we were too busy doing other things, weren't we?”

“Don’t remind me. Literally.” Clarke drawled. “I didn't realize you worked here Finn, otherwise I would have made other plans.”

Finn scoffed. "I don't work  _here,_ I'm over in the power tools section - don't really care for all this flowery shit."

"Yeah, I'd certainly say you qualify as a power tool." Clarke muttered. 

Finn slipped closer, densely unaware, or ignorant of Clarke’s strong attempts to emit _fuck-off_ vibes.

“So where are you holed up these days, Princess?” Finn said, his feeble attempt at a husky voice sounding like the whispers of a prepubescent child. “I thought you were out of town – you weren't hiding from me, were you?”

“I was studying abroad, but believe me,” Clarke muttered. “Now that I think about it, that’s a pretty convincing reason too.”  

Finn laughed, a sharp, antagonistic, almost snide. “Be honest, Princess – you couldn't stay away, am I right? That’s why you’re here – you came looking for _me_ , didn't you?”

“Christ,” Clarke said, disgust etched on her face. “Can you not? Please? This isn't school, and we’re not dating any more.”

Clarke felt dirty being the subject of Finn’s smirk, but there it was. “C’mon Princess, you miss me, don’t you? We had some fun times – hey, you doing anything tonight? I’ve learned _so_ many more moves since you’ve been gone – “

Clarke stood firm, her free hand clenched into a fist. “Enough, Finn. Back off now and I’ll consider not reporting your greasy ass for harassment.”

“Aw, c’mon, _Princess – “_

“ ** _Stop_** _,_ calling me Princess – “

“Clarke?”

Both Finn and Clarke froze where they stood. Slowly, they turned to see Lexa standing behind Finn, a worried expression on her face.

“Le – “

“Whoa, hey there.” Finn said, smirking. “What’s up, little lady?”

Lexa glanced him once up and down, and in an instant her expression changed, nose wrinkling as if finding an unpleasant odour. “Who is this, Clarke?” She said, ignoring Finn.

Clarke opened her mouth to reply, but Finn spoke first.

“The name’s _Finn_.” He said, flicking his tongue out at his name. “I used to date _Princess_ over here, but she’s decided she’s too _good_ for me. But you,” Finn dragged his eyes up and down Lexa. “You’re one _hell_ of a dish. What’s your name?”

Clarke had to give it to Lexa – she had never seen a look that perfectly summed up her low, low opinion of Finn Collins on someone else’s face before. Lexa glanced from Finn, to Clarke, shifting uncomfortably, putting the pieces together.

As if staring straight through Finn, Lexa spoke. “Do you want to get out of here, Clarke?”

“Yo,” Finn quipped, lowering his body condescendingly towards Lexa. “I'm _speaking to you._ ”

Lexa’s death glare could have wilted half the flowers in the greenhouse, but only seemed to afford them a few seconds of silence from Finn, before Clarke gulped a response.

“Yes,” Clarke said, side-stepping around Finn. “Please.”

Finn _tsked_ loudly. “What - you’re just gonna walk away, Clarke?” He hissed.

Clarke paused, but Lexa was the one to respond.

Lexa stepped aggressively towards Finn. “Who the _fuck_ let you think you were relevant?”

Finn fumbled, visibly shocked, but even then Lexa’s gaze didn’t leave Finn until Clarke was standing beside her, and didn't turn until Lexa stood between them. She left Finn with one last, lingering look of repulsion, before turning away.

Finn took it less kindly. His arm shot out, grasping at Lexa’s wrist.

“Hey, wait a fucking minute, you rude, uptight _bitch - “_

“ _Finn! Let go of -_ her?”

Clarke hadn't been looking to see what had happened, but she could have seen Finn reaching for Lexa out the corner of her eye. However, when Clarke turned, it was _Lexa_ who had an iron-like grasp of _Finn’s_ arm, twisting it behind his back, forcing out a pained squeal.

Finn snarled. “ _Shit -_ _Fucking let go of me you cun – fuck!”_

Lexa was _furious_. “If you _ever_ touch me or Clarke again, I’ll break your arms. _Both_ of them.”

Finn struggled, panting, gasping in pain as Lexa dragged Finn’s arm upwards between his shoulderblades. Lexa studied the pained expression on Finn’s face carefully, and it wasn't until Clarke placed a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, that Lexa released her grip, and a panting, sweating Finn fell to the ground, rubbing his shoulder viciously.

“Fuck, is this the kind of company you keep, Clarke?” Finn spat. “This psycho bitch?”

“Fuck _off_ , Finn.” Clarke said coldly. She turned to Lexa. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

As they marched towards the counter, the altercation having gone seemingly unnoticed from the dwindled customers and staff in the expansive store, they gathered their purchases and stepped out into the car park, having hardly paid Finn a second thought.

To be fair, he at least kept his word on this occasion, either out of fear or out of a misplaced sense of rotten pride, and from that day Finn never bothered Clarke or Lexa again.

 

 

**On the way home. **

It was a furious silence that sat with them on the way home, save for the sound of strained leather under Lexa’s firm grip on the steering wheel. She was speeding a bit more, braking a bit harder, taking sharper turns and cursing under her breath every now and then.

Finn had managed to royally piss off Lexa.

Clarke had been by no means any less angry, but it had started to subside. She had always been a terrible person for holding grudges, but more than that, she couldn't shake the image of Lexa out of her head, the way she stood with such force, with such sharp strength, the way she had looked at Finn with such disdain.

 _Who let you think you were relevant?_ Clarke grinned at the austerity of it. Lexa had stood her ground like some sort of superhero.

It was so surreal that Clarke began to laugh. Slowly at first, snickering and subtle, trying to hide it, but before long she was shaking. Lexa must have thought she was crying, because the next thing Clarke knew, they had pulled over, and Lexa’s hand was resting on her shoulder.

“Clarke,” Lexa said softly. “I'm sorry - are you okay?”

“I - I,” Clarke said, choking back her laughter. “I've… I've never seen **_you_** – anyone, like _that_ before! That was **_amazing_** _!_ ”

And that was it - the game was up. Clarke burst into laughter, recounting the afternoon’s altercation from her perspective (with only a little bit of exaggeration); the cold cool wit with which she had disarmed Finn with, and the impressive display of strength Lexa had exhibited when she _actually_ disarmed Finn.

And Lexa looked shocked, eyes wide and surprised that Clarke was laughing, raucously now, and soon she began to join in too. It must have been an odd scene, to see two women in a parked car, laughing to themselves.

“And when,” Clarke said, wiping a tear from her eye. “You said – _both of them_ , I actually got _chills._ Holy **crap** , Lexa – Remind me _never_ to get on your bad side.”

Lexa grinned into her lap. “You could never be on my bad side.”

With cheeks hurting from laughing, Clarke looked over to Lexa, smiling and ever-so-slightly pleased with herself, hands resting on her lap. It felt right, and Lexa made no attempt to resist, when Clarke reached over and took Lexa’s hand into her own, rubbing circles with her thumb.

Lexa grinned, a look of surprise and blush on her face.

“Thank you,” Clarke said quietly, now smiling at Lexa.

They sat for a few minutes, held hands resting against the handbrake, before Clarke said; 

“I, um – not that this isn't nice or anything, but I think we're illegally parked and – “

“Yes,” Lexa said, clearing her throat and sliding her hand from Clarke’s. “Let’s – Let’s get going.”

The remainder of the drive was much more relaxed, although questions still buzzed in Lexa’s mind.

“So,” Lexa said, her grip looser around the wheel. “How did you come to meet that guy anyway?”

“Erm,” Clarke sighed. “Well - not my brightest moment, but I _used_ to date him.”

Lexa choked. “W- **what**?!” She glanced over at Clarke in disbelief. “Really?”

Clarke glanced out the window, grinning, speaking in mock resignation. “Yeah. What can I say - I was young and foolish and **_way_** too into the whole bad-boy thing.”

Lexa’s next words came without so much a moment hesitation.

“You deserve so much better.”

_Not deserved, but deserve._

Clarke felt a warmth stir and settle within her a sensation that by now had become so familiar between the two of them. Clarke leaned against the window, resting her head against the cold glass, a habit she had developed every time she stepped into Lexa’s car. She watched complacently as street-lights blurred past, their drive taking winding streets and quiet lanes, until they reached their apartment.

They shared fewer words in the elevator to their floor, but Clarke couldn't help but notice that Lexa held a lingering smile the whole way. Clarke reached her door first, and found a note taped to the front of it.

 

> _gone out with anya - srsly griff it’s that easy!!!_

Clarke flushed, snatching the note off of her door before Lexa could see. Fortunately, Lexa was more concerned with distribution.

“Oh,” Lexa said, reaching into the canvas bag the store had provided. “I believe these - and this, don’t forget this one too - and _this_ especially, ah - yes. Here you go.”

Lexa handed Clarke her share of the day’s trinkets, and rushed to help Clarke open her door when she realized she had laden Clarke’s arms with plants and pottery.

“Thanks,” Clarke smirked, stepping into her apartment and dumping the goods onto a pile on the floor shortly beyond the doorstep, much to Lexa’s dismay. She stepped back into the hallway, dusting her hands off. “So… that was – well, I’d say a _pretty fun day_ , all things considered.”

Lexa nodded, glancing at her feet, her hands clutching at her canvas bag behind her back. “It was eventful, to say the least.”

Clarke chuckled in response.

And waited.

 _I should ask her now._ Her heart raced.

“So - “

“Anyway -”

Clarke glanced up, eyes meeting with Lexa’s, whose mouth moved with words unspoken, caught in her throat. Lexa paused, closing her eyes and clearing her throat.

“I think I better get going.” Lexa cleared her throat, an apologetic look on her face. “I've got work – “

“Oh.” Clarke said, hoping her disappointment wasn't too obvious. “Sure, yeah. Alright then, I’ll - I’ll see you around?”

Lexa nodded, and turned away to her own apartment. Clarke watched as Lexa fumbled with her keys, heart in her throat as Lexa turned the knob and stepped into her apartment.

Clarke closed her own door with a sigh, leaning against the frame. She ran a hand through her hair, grinning at herself and cursing her foolish hesitation.

_I should have said something._

_That was the chance and I blew it._

_Want to grab dinner Lexa? See - how fucking hard was that?_

Clarke felt her hands ball into fists, an incredible heat in her face. No, she was going to do it! She was going to march back over there, and say the words she had wanted to say to Lexa since the beginning! She turned, hand on the door knob, and -

_I -_

A furious knocking came at her door. She threw it open immediately, and Lexa almost toppled into Clarke’s apartment. “Yes?”

Lexa stood back up straight before her, red-faced and one boot off.

“Clarke.” Lexa said, eyes darting from Clarke to the wall, to the ceiling, to the door -

“Yeah?” Clarke said, eyes wide and unknowingly grinning.

“Would you - tomorrow, night - if you’re not doing anything - “ Lexa cleared her throat forcefully. “If you’re not _busy_ , I was thinking we could go to a restaurant and have, well, have dinner I suppose? If you’d like?”

Clarke’s grin couldn't possibly get any wider. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Lexa shuffled, struggling and failing to hide a bashful grin of her own. “I suppose it is.”

“I suppose,” Clarke said slowly. “The only answer to that is a yes, then.”

Lexa glanced up, surprised at first, only for her eyes to light up seconds later, beaming.

“Excellent! I’ll make a reservation and - well, around six-ish? That should be appropriate - “

Clarke laughed. “Sounds good, I'm - I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Fantastic, then I’ll see you tomorrow then Clarke. Tomorrow. At dinner.”

Clarke could barely hold back her happiness. “See you, Lexa.”

When Lexa nodded and turned sharply away, Clarke closed the door for the second time, this time grinning stupidly at herself. She laughed, muffled into her fist, shaking with joy. She wanted to jump, she wanted to leap! She wanted to scream and cry and laugh and everything at the same time. Her heart soared, and she practically bounced off the walls, as if bolts of lightning were shooting through her veins. 

_I have a date. I have a date! With **Lexa**! I need to call - _

Clarke was two steps into her apartment this time, when the knocking came again. It wasn't as furious, but rather it was slower, more… anxious. This time Clarke was curious, hesitant. Lexa was still there when Clarke opened the door.

“Not having second thoughts already, are you?” Clarke quipped.

Lexa was even more red-faced than before. “I - um, well, you see the thing is - “ She gestured with fumbling hands here and there, her words tripping over themselves as she spoke pointedly at the door. “It was an impulsive decision - and not that I regret it at all, but perhaps, with a bit more foresight - you see, the door closed, and the _key_ \- “

Clarke closed her eyes, burying her face in her hands as she shook with laughter.

“You,” Clarke said between gasps. “You locked yourself out _again_.”

Lexa blinked. “Again? How did you know – I thought I was subtle – “

“You gave your number to Raven! You handed it off to her!”

Lexa mouthed a soft _oh, yes._ She crossed her arms, her face resembling a ripe tomato. “Well, yes, but - Anyway, may I _please_ just borrow your phone to call Anya?”

Clarke ushered Lexa into her apartment, grinning wildly. “Sure. Though, I don’t know if you should call right now, she might be with Raven.”

“Ra - what?” Lexa said, taking off her remaining boot. “Raven’s with Anya?”

Clarke’s eyes widened. “You didn't know? Oh, I have **_so_ ** much to fill you in on.”

Clarke closed the door behind them, and no more knocking came. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont know how i feel about this one to be honest. The finn confrontation seems a bit heavy/strong for what was supposed to be all fluff, but goddamn if i don't want to smack finn up the face whenever i mention him. sorry! hope its okay! maybe I'll rewrite it someday!
> 
> as always comments are extremely welcome! a longer chapter since i got into the zone with this one. may be updated over the next few days once or twice for edits.


	10. Dates - Past, Present, and Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke reveals Anya and Raven's relationship to Lexa, Lexa confronts Anya, and Lexa and Clarke go on a little date.

As Clarke explains to Lexa everything that Raven told her, she can’t help but feel a sense of glee at the way Lexa’s eyes widen. It’s almost enough to forget everything else.

“So you’re saying - “

“Yes.”

“And that they - when we were - “

“That’s right.”

“And they’ve – together - ”

“Like rabbits, apparently.” Clarke snickers, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible. “That’s the impression that I’m getting, anyway.”

Clarke eyes Lexa curiously as she stirs a spoonful of sugar through her own molten cup of coffee. She potters around the kitchen, letting the weight of her words sink in, sneaking sideways glances at Lexa, who fidgets in her seat across the breakfast bar, a concerned look on her face. She stares intently into the swirling dark of her own mug, clutching at it with both hands as if she were clamouring for its warmth.

But Clarke’s giddiness slowly dissipates with each second she studies Lexa. She’s worried; Lexa wears an uneasy, confused expression on her face, like she’s trying to put the pieces of a broken puzzle together. It’s especially confronting for Clarke to see her sitting slightly slouched - Clarke would have easily believed that Lexa was the type of person who could bear the weight of the entire world on her shoulders, and still be able to maintain perfect posture.

“Wow.” Lexa mouths softly, eyes wide. They’re unfocused, and a wayward strand of hair tumbles over her bespectacled face. Clarke really would like nothing more than to reach across the breakfast bar and tuck it behind Lexa’s ear.

But that would be inappropriate, and among other reasons for Clarke to keep her hands to herself, she didn’t want to disturb Lexa while she seemed somewhat lost in thought.

Clarke leans against the sink, blowing softly across the surface of her mug. “Something wrong?” She hums, brow furrowed, staring over her coffee at Lexa with gentle eyes.

Lexa glances up, shaking her head slightly. “No, nothing. It’s - it’s just that... I don’t know,” She sighs, pauses, the takes a deep breath. “Why didn’t Anya tell  _ me _ ?”

Clarke passes a quizzical look. “Does she always tell you who she’s sleeping with?”

Lexa mentally stumbles at the words, her face hot without a single drop of coffee. “W-well,  _ yes _ \- I mean, no - not who she’s  _ sleeping _ with, but she’ll… tell me if she’s in a relationship, at least.”

“Huh.” Clarke smirked. “Is this a sibling rivalry thing? Do I need to remind you that  _ we’re  _ going -”

Lexa stammered out a hasty response. “N-no, I am most certainly  _ not _ jealous, Clarke, if that is what you’re insinuating!” She huffed, adding a hurried addendum that she had not, in fact, forgotten their later reservation. “It’s just that - Anya and I are  _ close _ . We’ve been… for a long time, it’s just been  _ us _ . I thought she would have… you know…”

Clarke quirked an eyebrow curiously. She’d never seen Lexa this unsure before; of herself, of Anya, of - of  _ anything _ , really. There was something soft in the way that Lexa seemed so forlorn about the situation, as if it was an ache, a pain. She looked almost like a child who had suddenly had their birthday candles blown out before them. A –

_ Wait a minute. _

A thought occurred to Clarke; though to be truthful, it had occurred to her long before today. It had been but a sapling in her mind all those days ago when she had first met Anya in their building’s parking complex - the way Anya had wrapped her arm around Lexa, the way Lexa had turned beet-red at the sloppy kiss that Anya placed on her cheek. She had toyed with the lingering thought floating in her mind - there was indeed curiosity Anya and Lexa’s relationship that nagged at Clarke. She couldn’t quite place her finger on it - but perhaps, now wouldn’t be the best or most appropriate time to ask -

But then again, there was a limit to how appropriate Clarke could be. 

“Heeeey,” Clarke said airily. “Were you and Anya… were you ever a  _ thing _ ?”

Clarke didn’t have time to regret her impulsivity. Lexa’s eyes widened, her gaze snapping up so quickly that Clarke worried for a moment that Lexa had hurt her neck as a result. Her face went pale, draining of colour, then almost immediately flushed pink, mouth slightly agape, wordless protests pouring forth.

“I - Anya, and - what? You think,  _ how  _ \- no, we - of  _ course  _ not, we  _ \- no, we - never, how could - what -” _

Clarke couldn’t help but grin. “Hey, you know it’s okay if you were -”

Lexa found her voice. “We’re sisters!” She squeaked.

Clarke snickered, shrugged nonchalantly. “ _ Some  _ people are into that -”

“Not us!” Lexa retorted shrilly. “Of all the –  _ perverse _ , unbelievable, you – Clarke –“  

“Relax!” Clarke laughed, eyes teary. “I’m just teasing. Mostly. Sort of.” Pausing, Clarke bit her lip. Was she going to push it? “Besides, I thought we established that you and Anya were in fact,  _ not _ related. Can we  _ please  _ clear that up?”

Lexa shook her head wildly. “We - we have the same surname!” Lexa said exasperatedly. “Surely that’s enough of a taboo!”

Even Lexa knew she was clutching at straws at this point.

“Please,” Clarke said, rolling her eyes. “If I wrote someone off just because they had the same  _ surname  _ as me, then I’d would have had a lot more time –“ She paused, catching herself. “Hold on, the same surname?”

There was a pause, where Lexa’s glare studied Clarke’s face for any hint of sarcasm. Only when she found nothing but genuine, soft curiosity, did Lexa visibly unclench her jaw, her breath that neither of them knew she had been holding in hissing softly from her lips.

Sheepishly, Clarke made a mental note to not push that button again.

“We’re both  _ Woods _ .” Lexa said, calmly. “We had names given to us when we arrived, but… but when we left the House, we wanted to have our own ones. To kind of… redefine ourselves.” She shook her head, her hair cascading over her shoulders. “It was stupid. Symbolic.  _ Anya’s  _ idea.”

Clarke hummed. She sipped at her coffee slowly, watching the way Lexa’s nimble fingers traced the edge of her own cup.

“I don’t think it’s dumb.”

Lexa made to protest, but nothing came. Instead, she tugged at her collar, toying with the seam.  

“Why Woods?” Clarke continued.

An absent smile slipped into Lexa’s lips. “There, um… there was a forest behind the House. Sometimes, we’d sneak out… to sort of,  _ get away _ from everyone else. Nobody would come looking for us –  _ of course _ they wouldn’t. The groundskeeper was lazy and you wouldn’t find any matron of the House traipsing around in the forest looking for two girls. So, Anya and I would explore, looking for a place to make our own, and  _ just  _ our own.”

Lexa paused, and Clarke found it within herself to close the distance between them. She reached across the bar, and placed her hand upon Lexa’s forearm, giving her a soft squeeze of affirmation. Lexa smiled softly, taking in a quiet breath.

“We… we found it inside a giant dead redwood. We used to sit inside with an electric lamp we took from the groundskeeper’s shed. I would read books while Anya smoked cigarettes she stole from some of the matrons,” Lexa gave a soft, short laugh, one that seemed to come from a far, forgotten place. She reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face, tucking it between her ear. “I got her to stop smoking eventually; Told her the whole forest was going to burn down if she kept it up.”

Clarke chuckled. “It sounds nice.”

“It was.” Lexa sighed, nodding. She glanced up to meet Clarke’s eyes momentarily. “It’s ours. Was. Was ours.” She sighed. “I don’t think it’s there anymore. Last I heard, they built a shopping centre over the whole place, even the House.”

_ That _ made Clarke feel guilty, even though she had nothing to do with that. A quiet silence fell between them, both parties staring quietly down at their cups, sipping gently between breaths –

Until Lexa reached over, and punched Clarke square in the shoulder.

“Ow –  _ Hey _ !” Clarke yelled, a look of hurt confusion on her face. “What the  _ fuck _ ?”

“That,” Lexa smirked, “Was for teasing me!”

“Jeez,” Clarke grinned, rubbing the sore spot. Lexa had one hell of a jab. “Normally people don’t react that way when I ask if they’re dating a scorching hot female – “

Lexa narrowed her eyes playfully. “She’s my closest friend! I admit she’s  _ not  _ my sister, but she’s  _ closer  _ than a sister. How would you feel if I – well, if I suggested that you and Raven had been dating?”

Clarke paused, raising her chin. “Actually, I  _ did _ date Raven. Back in high-school, actually.”

_ Checkmate.  _ Clarke watched in glee as the surprise took Lexa.  

“I – you  _ did _ ?” Lexa said.

Clarke hummed in acknowledgment. “She was my first. Well, we were each other’s firsts, I suppose.” Clarke rolled her eyes at a thought that cross her head. “You know how everyone’s like,  _ oh, now’s the time in your life to experiment with your sexuality –“ _

“Yes.” Lexa interjected sharply - she didn’t so much as speak, as much as she let the word tumble clumsily out of her mouth. Clarke paused, staring blankly at Lexa, who seemed to have chirped up without intending to. Slowly Lexa turned red, covering her face. “Sorry - continue.” She mumbled, from beneath eyes shut tight.

Clarke laughed. “Anyway, well, we were friends, and then we were more than friends. For a little bit, anyway.”

“What happened? You’re still friends now, so the separation must have been amicable.”

Clarke sighed. “We, uh - we actually have  _ Finn  _ to thank for that.” Clarke spat his name, as if it were grit and soot in her mouth. “He made up some rumour that we were cheating on each other. Anyway, being stupid high school kids, we didn’t really, you know,  _ communicate _ ? So we broke up, and I started dating –  _ him – _ until we finally figured that he had made that shit up.”

Lexa scoffed, pushing her glasses back up her nose with the flat of her thumb. “What did you do?”

“Text-dumped him on the spot and went straight to Raven to apologize. She, uh - She would have probably done the same if she wasn’t at the time being questioned by the police,” Clarke laughed at the shocked look on Lexa’s face. “She was arrested for punching Finn in the face and breaking his nose. I was actually the one to pick her up from the station.”

Lexa furrowed her brow. “But that’s assault. How did you get Raven let out so quickly?”

Clarke smirked. “We explained everything to the arresting officer.  We’re lucky it was a woman, I guess, but she just nodded and let us sort out the paperwork that night, that it was just a minor offence – something about the heat of the moment. Raven and I have been best friends ever since.”

Clarke drained the rest of her drink, setting the empty cup in the sink. There was a moment’s pause, before Lexa spoke up again.

“That’s a good story.”

Clarke smirked. “Yeah, so now I know  _ two _ girls who’ve got solid punching technique. We could start a girl gang.”

Lexa laughed. “I’m not one for gang activities, Clarke, I barely – “

Lexa’s phone rang, cutting through her words. “Sorry,” Lexa grimaced, pulling her phone. “It’s Anya.”

Clarke nodded.

“Hello?”

“ _ Hey, what are you up to at the moment? _ ”

“I’m at Clarke’s. Why?”

“ _ Oooooh _ ,”

Anya cooed into the receiver.

“ _ Am I interrupting anything? Should I call back later Lexa? No wait - stay right there, I’ll come around in a minute, I’ve got to see this –  _ “

“Anya!” Lexa said, flushed. Clarke was watching her, grinning. “What are you – “

_ “No, literally I’ll be there in a minute, I’m outside your building – “ _

“What!?” Lexa exclaimed. “Why – what – “

_ “I was going to bring you dinner, but we can dine with Clarke if you – “ _

“Nope.” Lexa said abruptly, jumping to her feet. She was not about to endure a meal with both Clarke _ and  _ Anya. “I’m heading back to mine. I’ll see you in a few.”

_ Anya groaned. “C’mon Lex, it’ll be fun – “ _

“See you in a moment, Anya.” Lexa snapped. She barely managed to end the call, before hearing Anya’s indignant mock-wail.  

“Everything alright?” Clarke said coyly. “Is Anya going to join us?”

“She will most certainly not.” Lexa hissed. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Lexa shrugged on her jacket, taking a moment to make sure the cuffs were aligned, once again pushing her glasses back up her nose with the back of her wrist. She made a quick mental check of  _ phone, wallet, keys,  _ and turned to bid Clarke goodbye.

“It was good seeing you Clarke,” Lexa said, holding out her hand across the breakfast bar.

Clarke glanced down at Lexa’s hand, rolling her eyes and grinning amusedly before firmly taking it.

“Another successful meeting Ma’am,” Clarke said in a business-like tone, shaking Lexa’s hand. “Pleasure working with you as always.”

For a moment, Lexa simply blinked in confusion, before sighing.

“Sorry.”

Clarke grinned, brow raised. She watched in bewildered amusement as Lexa walked briskly around the division of the breakfast bar, making a beeline straight for Clarke. It wasn’t until Lexa was less than a foot away from her, throwing her arms around Clarke’s shoulders in a forceful, yet not uncomfortable hug that Clarke’s expression turned from amusement to surprise.

Clarke’s eyes grew wide, and a breath hitched in her throat.

It took her a moment to realize what was happening.

It took her another moment to catch her breath.  

It took a third one for her arms to finally react, and wrap themselves around Lexa’s waist.

A thousand thoughts fired in her mind, and yet the one she chose to grasp onto was;

_ Gosh, she sure does smell nice. _

Fortunately, Clarke’s consciousness came back to her before the embrace ended. Lexa’s arms were still wrapped tight around her shoulders as she grinned, nuzzling softly into Lexa’s wavy brown hair.

“You know,” Clarke whispered, musingly. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

Lexa drew back sharply. “What – ”

As Lexa broke off to pass a glare, Clarke swooped forward to plant a soft peck on Lexa’s cheek, accidentally pushing Lexa’s glasses slightly askew in the process.

“- Hey!”

Lexa’s froze, a look of dishevelled confusion etched into every inch of her face, the exact spot where Clarke’s lips had touched her skin burning fiery hot, searing into her flesh. Her brows had shot into her hairline, brown eyes softly glazing over,mouth slightly agape, moving slowly with quiet humming.

“Uh… um…“

“Well!” Clarke said, voice slightly cracking and her own face burning red. “You’re – Anya’s waiting for you, right? I guess – uh, I’ll see you around - tomorrow, then!”

Lexa blinked, before turning abruptly and making her way to the door.

“O-of course. Yes. Goodbye Clarke. I’ll see you soon.”  

“Tomorrow.” Clarke repeated, trying to contain the excitement in her wavering voice.

“Yes.” Lexa nodded sharply. “Tomorrow.”

Clarke piped up once more before Lexa shot out into the hallway..

“Oh – hey, don’t forget your boot!”

**Shortly, In The Hallway...**

Lexa barely hears the dull  _ thunk _ of Clarke’s door closing behind her. She’s frozen, standing idly in the hallway, clutching her single boot so tightly against her chest that she can hear the squeaking of the leather in her hands as she stares at the bronzed number that hangs nailed to her doorframe.

She feels her heart racing, a giddiness bursting in her chest.

Lexa hadn’t planned on wrapping her arms around Clarke - although even  _ that _ wasn’t completely true. She had thought the handshake would have been appropriate - that was how she had ended many a conversation. It was professional, it was respectful, and until a few minutes ago Lexa was completely convinced that a handshake was a very generous expression of appreciation.

Clarke’s jest had thrown all of that out the window.

So what was she supposed to do then? A closer shake would hardly be any more appropriate. And yet, when she stepped to Clarke, she felt the overwhelming desire to hold her close. Of course, if anyone had asked Lexa before whether or not she had  _ hugged  _ anyone, she’d scoff and claim that obviously she had. Ask her the same, and inquire as to  _ when _ was the last time she hugged someone - well, that would prove to be a much more complicated matter altogether.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had hugged Anya, let alone anyone else. Now, after hugging Clarke, Lexa thought it would be a pleasant change if she hugged more people. Well, if she hugged one person more often, that is. Lexa wasn’t quite ready for the warmth that Clarke emitted, the way she practically sank into Clarke’s embrace, the smell of Clarke’s hair - honestly, it wouldn’t take much from Lexa to be able to recall that exact scent.

But just when she thought she had upped the ante, Clarke had to go double down on Lexa’s move.

_ You’re so cute when you’re angry. _

Lexa reached up with her free hand, pressing soft fingertips to the spot of burning skin where Clarke’s lips had been moments earlier. Anya had been right - It had been far too long, if a  _ hug _ and a  _ kiss on the cheek  _ could do this sort of thing to her. A fire crackled in her chest, a lump rose in her throat, and wave upon wave of warming sensation washed over her from cheek to chin to everywhere else too.

And even to some places rather inconvenient. It was distracting, painful like a hunger, a sensation so close to satisfaction, but hanging just out of reach. It was addictive, and it made Lexa’s mind foggy and unresponsive.

So much so, that she barely even registered the  _ ding _ of the elevator, the sound of cumbersone paper bags, and the slow, cautious footsteps that marched towards her.

A seemingly far away voice spoke her name. “Lexa?”

Lexa hummed quietly, still lost in her thought. Her higher functions knew someone was approaching, it’s just that she didn’t really care.

“What are you doing standing in the hallway - in your socks, no less? Are you – is that a  _ boot _ ? A single boot, what the fuck –“

Lexa turned, shaken gently out of her reverie. Anya stood beside her, with tight black jeans, a familiar leather jacket, and an uncertain look on her face. In her arms were two gigantic paper bags, the glorious smell of fried, greasy goodness seeping out and into the hallway.

Lexa smiled. “Hello, Anya.” She said cheerily.

Anya recoiled, eyes widening momentarily in fear, studying Lexa down the length of her nose, the corner of her mouth twitching in disgust. She glanced down at the boot Lexa clutched to her chest, and back to the seemingly impervious look of saccharine sweet bliss on Lexa’s face, then to Clarke’s door.

“Christ, you took your _ shoes _ off –“ Anya exclaims, with a look of mock scandal. “What sort of debauchery did you two get up to!?”

Lexa laughs, though it’s closer to a giggle, which only serves to elongate Anya’s worried expression. Lexa fumbles around in her pockets for her keys, and after several attempts, manages to push the heavy door open.

Lexa wastes no time hurriedly shoving Anya into her apartment. “Get inside!” She says. “I want to – I've got something to – j-just get inside!”

“Wha – okay, Christ –  _ shit _ , Lex, what’s gotten into you?”

Dumping her boot by the door with its sibling, Lexa scoops up the bags from Anya’s arms and pads down the hallway to dump the food onto her coffee table. Anya follows in moments later, throwing herself down onto Lexa’s uncomfortable couch.

“Okay,” Anya huffs, staring up at Lexa, pawing ineffectively at the paper bag of food while she fidgets on the couch, trying to get comfortable. “What the  _ hell _ is going on?”

Lexa’s hands toy with the buttons on her shirt. She’s biting her lower lip, shifting her weight from foot to foot like an overexcited puppy.

Anya rolls her eyes. “C’mon Lex just tell m-“

“I did it, Anya!” Lexa blurts out, doubling over to catch her breath. “Oh my goodness - I did it!”

“You did – what did you do?”

Beaming, Lexa nudges Anya over and finds a spot on the couch.

“I – I have asked Clarke on a date!”

Anya stares blankly over at Lexa, and for a moment Lexa feels her giddiness dissipate. Instead of joy, there’s a fleeting look in Anya’s eyes, of hurt, or pain, or –  _ something,  _ that Lexa can’t quite put her finger on. It unsettles her, unexpectedly and completely, but it lingers for only a second before Anya flashes a smirk, chuckling to herself.

“That’s great, Lex.” She says jovially. It doesn't pass by Lexa that the smile doesn't reach her eyes.

Lexa wrestles with a growing sense of unease that writhes in her stomach. It wasn't what she expected – she wanted Anya to be excited for her, filled with her usual energy. 

She wasn't so sure how to proceed.

But now, Anya’s laughing. “About time you did, Lexa.” Anya grins, sitting up straight and reaching for the takeaway. “You, uh – _Finally_ , I was wondering when you two would _actually_ go on a date…”

Lexa frowns. Anya’s words feel stilted, forced almost. She suddenly  _ feels _ the distance between them, dousing her heart in cold.

“Anya, is everything okay?”

Anya pauses, glancing over to Lexa to offer a look of reassurance.

“Yeah,” She snorts, “Of course. Why?”

Lexa crinkles her nose. She doesn't buy it, but in all the years she’s known Anya, she’s learned how stubborn she can be.

“Well, how have  _ you _ been, Anya?” Lexa asks softly. “You must have been quite – “

“I'm fine, Lex. Business as usual, y’know, that sort of thing.”

Anya speaks with sharp, terse tone, and Lexa feels her jaw tense up almost instinctively. She’s heard that voice before, and she knows the Anya that comes with it. It’s the same Anya that found her last partner was cheating on her, the same Anya that was just told they wouldn't be able to visit Gus and Indra this Christmas.

It was the voice of the Anya who’s been hurt, but too proud to talk about it, and instead bottles it away.

Anya is still rummaging through the takeaway bag as Lexa chews her lip, and it’s then that she decides that it’s not up to her whether she wants to talk or not.

“Well,” Lexa clears her throat, trying to shake off the itch of frustration. “I have actually heard something quite intriguing regarding  _ yourself _ , Anya. Apparently, you've been going on a few dates of your own.”

Anya pauses in her movement, eyes moving hesitantly to and from Lexa.

“What?” Anya says, brow crinkled in a false uncertainty that stabs at Lexa. 

Lexa pulls a look of disbelief, right before jabbing Anya in the arm. “Don’t _ what  _ me, Anya. When were you going to tell me you've been seeing Clarke’s friend Raven?”

Anya winces from Lexa’s blow – after all, it was her who taught Lexa her punching technique. Yet, instead of mock-sparring with her like they used to, Anya sinks into Lexa’s couch - as well as she could manage, anyway. “Ah,” Anya said, hardly hiding the distant grimace that curled the corners of her lips. “So she told you about that, huh.”

Lexa rolled her eyes. “Raven told Clarke, Clarke told me. What I want to know is; why did I have to find out through my neighbour?” Again, Lexa jabbed at Lexa’s shoulder. “Why have you been hiding this from me?!”

“Hey!” Anya recoiled, rubbing her shoulder furiously with her free hand. “I haven’t been hiding anything, it’s just - I don’t know, it’s not - there’s just not much to say!”

“Not much to say?” Lexa pouts in disbelief. “Anya - you, with my neighbour’s friend? I feel like this is a pertinent detail to share.”

Anya shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. “It’s nothing.“

It didn't come across as nonchalantly as she intended, though. It was almost biting. Irritated, perhaps, but Lexa wasn't going to let this slip.

“Nothing?” Lexa scoffed, eyeing Anya with disbelieving eyes. “Sleeping together, Anya? This is hardly nothing.”

“Yeah,” Anya snapped, a shadow of irritability passing over her face. “And that’s  _ it,  _ Lex _ ,  _ just - drop it! _ ” _

Lexa recoiled at the sharpness of Anya’s words, who stared down at the coffee table with burning, regretful gaze as Lexa watched side on, a worried, torn expression on her face, hands crossed on her lap. Anya sighs, reaching for the take-away, only to drop her half-filled plate on the table dejectedly.

"It’s… all cold now.”  

Lexa sighs, speaking softly, guiltily. “Anya, I'm –“

But Anya spoke up instead. “It’s… it’s not like we’re really seeing this as a long-term, meaningful relationship or anything. It’s just - a fling. Or  _ whatever _ . Like -” She paused, gritting her jaw in frustration. “We each know what the other person wants, and that’s enough for now. And right now - “

Anya turned, fist raised to jab at Lexa’s shoulder, only to pass a quiet, forlorn smirk when Lexa flinched.

“ - it’s just that there’s not much to tell, Lex. That’s all.” Anya chuckled quietly, almost remorsefully. “Don’t get me wrong; If Raven or I ever wanted to... I don’t know - take whatever we have to the next level? Then I probably would have told you.”

“Would you have, though?” Lexa said, trying not to let the hurt claw into her tone.

Anya shrugged, her ghostly smile wavering. “I… I don’t know. Maybe? Who knows. Maybe not. I didn’t tell you about all the others and… You made it pretty clear you wanted to live your  _ own _ life when you,” Anya caught herself, words not meant to be spoken sharp and painful, lodged in her throat, but far, far too late to swallow. She sighed heavily before she spoke. “When you, uh… when you moved out.”

_ Ah.  _ Lexa frowned, watching Anya staring absently into her lap with a distant look in her eyes. “Is that what this is about? Is that why you’re around here so oft -”

Anya’s eyes grew wide. “I have  _ no idea _ what you’re talking about.” She said, shaking her head.

Lexa snorted, rolled her eyes. “Anya.” She said sternly.

Anya grew red in denial. “Nope, not gonna say it -”

“ _ Anya, _ ” Lexa said, reaching over to snatch Anya’s hand from her lap, who turned with a look of hurt surprise on her face. “I've missed you too.”

Anya stared at Lexa, mouth slightly agape, eyes narrowed and unsure, but guilty.

“I, uh – sure, whatever – “

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Lexa glared at her, sighing quietly, only to close her eyes in a moment’s thought. “I  _ did  _ want my own life. But that doesn't mean that - that I don’t still want to be a part of  _ yours _ .” Lexa drew Anya’s hand to her lips to press a soft kiss against Anya’s knuckles. “I miss living with you too. I miss talking to you every day, and I miss your stories and falling asleep watching dumb TV with you. But just because we don’t see each other every day, doesn't mean I don’t think about you every day, or that I don’t care about what’s going on with you. We promised we’d always be there for each other, even if nobody else would.”

Lexa could see the look of burning shame hanging heavy over Anya. She gave her hands a soft squeeze of reassurance, her thumb rubbing idle circles against the back of her hand.  

“I don’t plan on breaking that promise, and I never planned on becoming a liar,” Lexa continued. “So don’t think I'm going to start any time soon. And don’t make yourself one either, so stop shutting me out. I want to know what’s happening in your life, whatever it is.”

Anya managed a soft, broken smile, watching the way Lexa’s hands held her own so delicately. She cleared her throat with a staggered cough, turning briefly to aggressively rub at her eyes.

“I guess I've been a pretty shitty big sister, huh,” Anya said quietly, a shuddering laugh breaking, almost weeping. She took a deep breath, kissing Lexa’s knuckles like she had hers. “You’re… you’re  right. I'm sorry. I do miss you, Lex, but I shouldn't ever think... that you’d ever leave me.” She gave a soft chuckle. “You always were the sensible one.”

Lexa smiled, stroking Anya’s hand with her thumb. “Of course. I'm the brains and you’re the muscle. How do you think we got away with all our heists at the House?”

“I don’t know,” Anya said, rubbing her shoulder with her free hand. “Maybe you’re the brains  _ and _ the muscle. That was one hell of a jab.”

Lexa cursed under her breath. “Clarke said the same thing. Do I really hit that hard?”

Anya snorted, hiccoughing. “Yeah. All knuckle, just like I taught you.”

Lexa laughed softly, sinking into a warm smile. They sat in quiet contemplation for a brief moment, before Lexa spoke up again.

“Do you want to talk about Raven?”

Anya looked down into her lap, rubbing her eyes and smiling in soft surrender.

“She’s great, Lex. She ca - She… she’s a mechanic, or something. I don’t know – I didn't really understand what she was talking about, to be honest. But she’s sweet and smart and she seems like she might really… She’s working on her own stuff right now, but I think she can make it big in –  _ whatever _ she does. Might be rocket science, for all I know.”

Anya hiccoughs again, but Lexa knows what she’s struggling to say.

“She sounds wonderful, Anya.” She pauses momentarily, before adding softly, “I think you really care about her.” She eases it slowly, feeling Anya’s grip tighten around her hand.

She knows it’s an uneasy subject. It’s one that’s haunted Anya for a long time.

“Do you think she feels the same way, Anya?”

Anya’s eyes are shut tight, but Lexa knows that as best Anya tries to hide it, they’re glistening.

“She… She does. I hop – I… I think.”

Lexa nods, swallowing a lump in her own throat. She frees a hand to rub soft circles against Anya’s back. Anya tenses slightly at the touch to begin with, her body taut and rigid, but slowly sinks into the soothing sensation.

“She won’t leave you, Anya. She’s not going to run away.”

Anya shudders softly, before taking a sharp breath. She holds it, gritting her teeth angrily, stemming the tears that want to burst forth. Lexa feels her own eyes misting slightly, biting her lip to stop it shaking.

She knows this about Anya, the fear that grips at her, that keeps her up at night, that nags at her, that whispers the twisted thoughts that everyone else will be the same as her parents. Seeing Anya like this, in a way she’s morbidly grateful she never knew her own.

Lexa draws Anya into a tight embrace, humming soothing noises as Anya grits her teeth against the angry sobs. She remembers how hard it was for her to gain Anya’s trust when they were but children back in the House, and wonders what softer side of Raven Anya’s seen that hits her so deeply.

They’re not quite sure how long they stay in each other’s arms, wrapped tight and quiet, but Anya’s breathing eventually steadies and evens out, and her grip on Lexa’s hand and shirt eases and rests. She sniffles occasionally, but Lexa holds onto her as long as she needs to, until Anya is ready to let go.

When she does, Lexa feels a soreness in her lower back, and her arms ache slightly, but she doesn't grimace. Her hand remains on Anya’s back, rubbing steady circles, to remind her that she’s still here.

Anya takes a few napkins from the coffee table and dabs slowly at her face. It’s only when she’s one-hundred per cent sure that she’s presentable, that she turns slightly in Lexa’s direction.   

“Thanks, Lex.” Her voice breaks slightly, and her hiccoughs are still there, but she speaks evenly.

Lexa nods. “I'm always going to be here.”

It’s only after the third insistence that Anya gives that she’s okay, that Lexa gets up and takes the food to reheat it in the kitchen. They turn on the TV to have something to focus on, but neither of them are really watching it. They eat in silence, not uncomfortable, but with the wake of emotion that lingers between them, shared, rather than divisive. They speak little, and when they do they make small talk. Others may consider it insubstantial, but it soothes them.

Anya stays until it’s well and truly dark out. A soft rain begins to pelt at Lexa’s windows, and Anya grumbles that she better get home before it gets any heavier. Lexa offers to let Anya stay till the morning if she’d like, but Anya shakes her head, declining her bed and saying that she’d rather  _ “Drive through hell than sleep on your couch.” _

Lexa shows Anya to the door as she leaves. “Anya?”

Anya glances up from where she was lacing her boots on Lexa’s front step. “Hm?”  

“You should talk to Raven.”

Anya nods reassuringly. “I will. I’ll let you know when I have.”

Anya stretches as she prepares to leave, the heavy door of the apartment swinging open. She tucks her helmet under her arm, and reaches up to accept a brief hug, that ends with Lexa kissing her fondly on the forehead.

"A hug?" Anya remarks amusedly. 

Lexa shrugs. "I'm trying a new thing." 

Anya laughs, a fond one that comes from deep within. “Y’know, sometimes I feel like it’s you who’s the big sister, and that I'm the little one.” 

Lexa smirks, leaning against the wall. “It does seem like that sometimes.”

“Cheeky.” Anya grins, her eyes warm with compassion, but even so her next words come to surprise Lexa.

“I like this side of you, Lex.” 

“What’s that?” Lexa says. 

Anya raises a brow. “This compassionate Lexa. I haven't seen _her_ in a long time. It’s… nice. Softer. Don’t get me wrong - that whole stone-cold professional bitch façade you have is awesome and badass too, but… I don’t know, maybe I'm just being overly emotional or something but… I'm just saying, you've dropped the game.” 

Lexa pouts. “You’re being ridiculous, Anya.”

Anya shrugs playfully. “Maybe. Between the flowers and little coffee treats and shopping dates, you've gone soft. It’s been a while since I last saw this Lexa.” She mimes a gasp of incredulity. “Perhaps it’s something to do with this one?” 

Anya gestures to Clarke’s door, who stands discriminatingly quiet in the face of Anya’s suggestion.

Lexa scoffs. “Goodnight, Anya.” She says firmly.

Anya replies with a snicker. “Night Lex. Love you. Good luck on your  _ proper  _ date.”

Lexa rolls her eyes, but she feels her chest swell slightly as she glances to Clarke’s door opposite the hallway.

“I'm sure it’ll be fine.”

She says it, and she knows she means it, but even when she lays her head to sleep that night, she mulls over the words that Anya said to her. 

_You've_ _  dropped the game. _

 

**The Following Day...**

The nagging thought stayed with her for most of the following day as well. Lexa had never given a second thought to how others perceived her, how she behaved when she was out, when she was social. Not until now. 

For most of the day, Lexa felt as if she were drifting a few feet behind herself, watching her interactions from a distance, examining her every movement, faint and dazed. She woke, ate, and prepared for the day without a second thought, sitting through early morning and afternoon meetings and client consultations almost on autopilot. She certainly didn't feel as if she were acting any differently; she was merely being professional. 

But Anya’s words still clung to her. 

“Thank you,” Lexa said, when an administrative assistant handed her an early drafted report. “You've done well.” 

The admin assistant gave her a quiet look of confusion, before heading off with a skip in her step. 

Perhaps Anya was right; perhaps in her desire to appear professional and commanding, she came across as distant and cold, dominant and intimidating. And perhaps, with that Lexa being so prevalent, the other, softer side of her remained far beneath her skin, waiting, dormant. 

Lexa knew, of course, even before Anya mentioned it, that it was Clarke that drew that Lexa to the surface again, that broke the waves and gasped for air, fresh and crisp that filled the lungs and seared the skin, the warmth of a thousand burning suns bringing it to life again. 

Lexa caught herself smiling during the day, and had to excuse herself on several occasions to find a private room where she could enjoy the overwhelming sensation of giddiness that flooded into her very veins at the thought of their date later in the evening. 

Lexa left work early, deciding to put the extra energy to use via a quick jog before the evening. While it served it’s purpose in relaxing Lexa, the adrenaline had the critical side-effect of masking any symptoms of anxiety that had been growing within her. 

In fact, it wasn't until Lexa was standing outside of Clarke’s door in the hallway, that the gravitas of the situation fell straight on her shoulders. 

Suddenly it was as if all concept of reality had rushed into her being at once; Hyper aware of her surroundings, every smell and sound that drifted around her, every inch of fabric that touched her skin. She tugged at the cuffs of her buttoned shirt, adorned with a modest gold link from collar to collar, tucked into waist high black trousers. She glanced down to her heeled boots; two layers of polish must have surely been enough.

She reached up instinctively to push up her glasses, only to remember too late she was wearing contacts, and ended up prodding herself in the nose. 

She wasn’t overthinking it. She was thinking about everything just the perfect amount, which just so happened to be a lot. The beads of sweat running down her temple were simply from the slightly-above-average evening heat.

At least, that’s what she told herself. 

Lexa pulled her clutch from under her arm, searching through its contents once again to ensure that she had everything she needed, even though she had made doubly sure that she had everything before she left her own apartment.

But at that point, even she knew she was stalling.

Why though? She knew Clarke. They were neighbours.

Good neighbours.

Friends, even.

She had seen her just yesterday.

She had been out with her numerous times

Of course, she hadn’t  _ gone out  _ with her once.

Perhaps that was it.

Perhaps.

Lexa checked the clock on her phone for the fifteenth time since stepping into the hallway. 5:58PM. There was still time – she didn’t want to be too early and seem overly eager, but on the other hand there was no excuse for being late. She lived directly opposite her – tardiness would not be excused.

Lexa took a deep breath, and swiped through her phone again to her messages, unearthing the text Anya had sent half an hour ago.

_ “Good luck Lex <3” _

She smiled, her heart swelling as she traced the words again and again. What did she have to be worried about? It was just a date.

Just a date.

With Clarke Griffin.

5:59:46PM

Just a casual date.

5:59:50PM

A casual first date.

5:59:57PM

Lexa’s stomach churned.

6:00:00PM.

Lexa raised her hand, and knocked twice on Clarke’s door. She stood frozen, anxiously waiting with ears pricked for any sound. It seemed an eternity before Lexa heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching, of a chain unclasping, and –

Perhaps just the faintest laugh.

The door creaked open, and Lexa only had a moment to appreciate the softness in Clarke’s gaze, before she was floored by the rest of her ensemble. 

“Hey, Lexa,” Clarke beamed. A simple knee-length dress of deep red, low cut and bold. A silver necklace hung from her neck, devilishly draped over her collar bones. 

“Clarke,” Lexa swallowed heavily. “You look lovely.” 

Clarke shrugged modestly, blushing slightly. "Thanks, you look - just,  _ fantastic _ .” She said, her gaze sweeping over Lexa’s body, biting softly on her lower lip. “I’ll just - give me one moment, I’ll grab my shoes and I’ll be out, okay?” 

Lexa nodded, feeling a chill run down her back as Clarke lingered for a second, before she disappeared back into her apartment. Lexa felt a flutter in her chest, the corners of her lips curling into a quiet smile. She felt like she was going to be sick, and that she just might revel in the sensation. 

They shared a comfortable silence as they stepped in the elevator, descending to the garage. They had made this trip many times before, and on the surface it seemed no different. But something deep within them resonated, crackling to life and almost tangible between them, an energy that felt like static, dangerous to touch and yet desperately, wholeheartedly wanting to.

Of the little they spoke in the car, all of it was with a nervous, hesitant vitality. Soft, quiet smiles and subtle smirks, quirks of the eye and lip and gentle fidgeting. It was as if they were children on the way to an amusement park, and were desperately trying to put on their best behaviour, lest the car get turned around. 

Lexa wasn’t sure about Clarke, but her own heart was beating much too quickly. She could feel her palms sweating, the white-knuckle grip teasing quiet squeaks from the leather of the wheel. Mental calculations flew through her mind, making sure every micro-decision she made would ensure that the evening ran smoothly. 

Again, Anya’s voice echoed through her mind.  _ This compassionate Lexa, it’s… nice.  _

As they approached a red light, Lexa eased off the wheel, taking a deep breath.  _ Relax.  _

She jumped as Clarke’s hand brushed against her forearm. 

“Hey,” Clarke laughed, squeezing Lexa’s wrist. “You’re going to break the wheel if you keep that up.” 

Lexa nodded bashfully. “Yes. Sorry, I - Uh... “

Clarke smiled coyly. “Nervous?” 

Lexa blinked, turning wide-eyed to Clarke. She pondered her answer for a moment, before bursting into a quick fit of laughter. 

“Sorry, yes I - oh, goodness, yes. A little bit.” 

Clarke laughed, glancing downward into her lap. “Don’t worry. Me too.” 

Lexa nodded, her cheeks aching from smiling. “It’s silly, isn’t it.”

“Really silly.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Absolutely. I’m outraged.” 

“I -” 

They both jumped as an ear-piercing honk split the air. Lexa glanced into the rear-view mirror, where a red-faced and pudgy man screamed at them from the spot behind them, cursing at them to drive. 

The light had turned green and they hadn’t even noticed. 

They sat in a quiet, embarrassed silence as Lexa sped off. Seconds passed, and with each that did, Lexa felt her sense of hot discomfort creeping up her neck, boiling under her skin - only to dissipate in surprise as she felt Clarke reach for her idle hand resting on her thigh, slipping slender fingers to intertwine with Lexa’s own. 

Lexa glanced to her side - Clarke was forcibly staring out the window, her free hand resting across her eyes, her mouth wide in a giddy grin as she held tightly onto Lexa’s hand. Lexa couldn’t help but feel her heart burst. 

It was… comforting. 

They made their way to the restaurant without further complication, only briefly letting go of each other as they got out of their car. Lexa would never have believed the absence she felt in that moment, making a hurried gesture of falling in beside Clarke just to take her hand in hers again. 

The restaurant sat among many others that ran along the Polis Promenade, buzzing with nightlife and illuminated by dozens of mock gas lamps, dousing the boardwalk in a golden glow. Families trundled along to and fro, some makeshift stalls were dismantling their stores, while others were just now setting up their wares for the night crowd. Groups of younger visitors sat along seats by the water, dangling over bars, playing a dangerous game with the waves that lapped against the barrier. A soft gust parted over the bay, filling the air with the tingling scent of salt and sea. 

Lexa led Clarke along the promenade’s procession by hand, subtly glowing with pride as Clarke gazed around in awe of the boardwalk’s rich history, its well-maintained shopfronts, its elaborate brass decorations, and the vast view of the sea beyond. She could feel Clarke’s grip tighten every time she remarked about one of the statuettes that decorated the railings, the way her squeezes were reassuring, but gentle.

Lexa had to admit, she was enjoying  _ that  _ a lot than any of the wonders of the boardwalk. Indeed, Lexa had decided that she very much enjoyed holding hands with Clarke. 

The restaurant was the second before the end of the promenade, a small, family-owned Italian restaurant, right by the entrance of the bay. The interior was cosily decorated; vines hung from exposed rafters, characterized by subtle wear of the briny air, and each table a replica of the next, with white sheets and immaculate cutlery, each furnished and illuminated with an empty bottle of Italian vintage, stuffed with wax and burning with several wicks at once. Their host welcomed them generously, sitting them aside the few other couples that occupied tables, provided them menus, and gave them peace. 

Lexa perused the short menu for a whole minute, before she caught Clarke staring at her, who in turn quickly glanced back down, a sly smirk and blush accompanying her cheek. Smirking, she reached across the table, and slipped her hand once more into Clarke’s. 

“What do you think?” Lexa asked, stroking the flat of Clarke’s thumb.

Clarke sighed complacently. “It’s amazing. I always heard the boardwalk was really kitschy, but this… is really, really nice. How did you find this place?” 

Lexa hummed, a warmth spreading in her chest. “I used to come me here often - er, on the days that people could actually convince me to go out for dinner.”

Clarke raised a curious brow. “Used to? Not anymore?”

“Oh,” Lexa caught herself. “Well - yes. I, um… there was a time, when I didn’t really go out a lot.” Lexa fidgeted quietly, only to add quite hurriedly when she spotted the look of concern on Clarke’s face. “It was a long time ago, I - I was going through a, uh… A harder time. But it’s okay now, I promise.” 

Lexa gave Clarke’s hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze, much like how she had done for her. Clarke nodded and smiled back, a gesture that spoke more than anything any words could say. Lexa knew her voice wouldn’t betray her, because it was true; her past was past. 

And yet, there was a part of her that wanted to tell Clarke, that knew she had to eventually. If they were to make something of this, then the truth would have to be given freely and openly, not hidden and sheltered as if in shame. 

That time would come sooner than either of them expected, but rather than drive them apart, it would bring them impossibly closer. 

They ordered their meals and appetizers and generous bottles of wine, brought out by the boisterous and jovial host that served them. Clarke joked, hoping this time their antics with wine and champagne would go a lot more smoothly than their last, to which Lexa snorted, dabbing at her nose and mouth with her napkin, more than anything to hide her red face at the thought of the crescendo of their last alcohol-fuelled antic. 

The candle flickered quietly, eagerly watching the two enjoy each other’s company. 

“I would love to paint this place.” Clarke mused, chin resting on her idle hand. “The aesthetic is beautiful.” 

Lexa hummed in agreement. “For your portfolio, perhaps? How has that been coming along anyway?” She asked, sipping at her wine. 

Clarke sighed exasperatedly. “My brief is  _ almost  _ complete. When it’s done, I can demonstrate it for the gallery I’ve been looking at and hopefully -  _ hopefully,  _ they’ll be willing to host me.” 

Lexa smiled. “I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to host your art, Clarke. You’re very talented.” 

Clarke smirked. “You’re killing this whole dating thing, Lexy.” 

“That I am.” Lexa mused. “Do you know when you’ll be able to present?” 

Clarke crinkled her nose in thought. “Erm, maybe a fortnight from now? I don’t know. It’ll be up to their availability, and depending on if I think I can get one more piece done after I tidy up my current one.” 

Lexa nodded, a question hesitant on the tip of her tongue. 

“Would you like me to come with you?” 

Clarke glanced up, her eyes wide in earnest appreciation. She smiled a pursed, eager smile, one that Lexa knew spoke of pure gratitude. 

“I’d really appreciate it if you did.”

Lexa wasn't quite sure at what point her anxiety disappeared, but she was thankful it had. It was calming to be around Clarke, an aura of serenity that gave her happiness, whether they were in her apartment, or out in a fancy restaurant. Either would be pleasurable to her - though one would be in much nicer clothes. 

They spoke like friends and laughed like they had known each other their whole lives, their joy as intoxicating as the drink before them, the sounds of their company a perfect duet against the sounds of the ocean rumblings against the bay. They savoured the delicacies brought before them and drank of wine and champagne, but knowing just when to cut themselves off, of course. 

They touched, innocent and eager, drawn to each other’s skin like the very fibre of the universe, in its undying, infinite wisdom, had itself compelled them to. 

They would be more than happy to oblige. To Lexa, it felt like home. 

It wasn’t until their glasses had run dry, until their plates had long been taken away, until the flame of their bottle-candle hung deep within the bottom of its bottle, that they decided that they ought to go. Lexa made to settle the bill, with only a meagre fight from Clarke that was almost immediately shut down by Lexa with a lovingly sarcastic comment to the effect of, “You might have just been fed, so you’re not  _ technically _ a  _ starving _ artist, but…” 

Clarke would have made to deliver a swift jab at Lexa, if she wasn’t suddenly approached by one of the wait staff. 

“H-hey,” He said timidly; A gangly thing, much, much younger than either Clarke or Lexa, dressed in a food splattered apron. “How’s it, uh - how’s it going?” 

Lexa stood stern, watching with eagle eyes, but Clarke spoke in a confused tone.

“Um, pretty good, thanks.” 

“That’s - great. Uh, listen - you’re really, er… really pretty?” The boy flushed red suddenly. “ _ Socanigetyournumberosomethingandmaybewecangetacoffee _ ?” 

Clarke froze, eyes widening. “O-oh, uh -”

Lexa stepped forward, clearing her throat. “Actually - “

“Actually,” Clarke repeated, catching Lexa’s warpath. “That’s sweet, but I’m on a  _ date _ .”

Lexa froze in her step, her fury dissipating only slightly as she felt Clarke wrap herself tightly around her arm. The boy’s eyes widened, swallowing a lump as he nodded understandingly, a look of intense fear and embarrassment washing over his face as Lexa’s undying gaze burned into his forehead. 

Lexa was pretty sure she had never made someone retreat so quickly before. The image that her mind conjured was one of a puppy scampering with its tail between its legs. 

She could feel Clarke shaking, snickering and red-faced, trying to contain a laugh. 

“We better go.” Lexa whispered.

“Y-yes,” Clarke said, gasping quietly for breath. “Let’s.” 

Lexa hurriedly sorted the bill, insisting that the manager keep the $35 in change, and frantically marched out the front door arm in arm, and into the crisp, evening air. 

They managed to make their way a few store-fronts back up the Promenade, before they doubled over in laughter. 

“I - I thought,” Clarke spluttered, teary eyed and struggling for breath. “I thought you were going to  _ destroy  _ him!” 

Lexa wheezed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you hadn’t caught me, I probably would have.” 

The rumble of waves crashing against the Promenade barrier drowned out their laughter, but it didn’t stop them. 

Clarke sighed complacently. “I don’t get it,” She said amusedly, bending down to sit along the Promenade’s edge, feet dangling over the eager waves. “We weren’t exactly - you know, being subtle.” 

Lexa rolled her eyes, moving to join her, grimacing slightly at the thought of all the dirt she’d have to brush off her trousers later. 

“He was probably too focused on you.” 

Clarke scoffed. “And miss the smoking hottie sitting opposite me?” 

“Please,” Lexa smirked. “If he couldn’t pick up how gay I was, then he really was clueless.” 

Clarke laughed, bringing a smile to Lexa’s face, as she slowly swung her feet back and forth. A larger wave crashed into the stones below, salt spray glancing the heel of her boot.

The Promenade had died down by the late evening - even most of the people peddling their merch had gone home. A few stragglers quietly made their way home, leaving most of the golden boardwalk to themselves. 

“Maybe. To be honest, I didn’t really feel like this was a date.” Clarke said, resting her free arm on the bar that ran chest high from where they sat. 

Lexa looked at her inquisitively. “What do you mean?”

Clarke gave her a reassuring look. “Not that I didn’t have a great time - It’s just that… I don’t know, it felt like we were just hanging out as usual, you know? Which I  _ love _ doing, don’t get me wrong, it just feels - like, even though it’s our first date, I feel like I already know so much about you. That I’m… so  _ comfortable  _ around you already.” She laughed at her own rambling. “It’s way different to any date  _ I’ve _ ever been on, in a good way. Do… do you know what I mean?”

Lexa shrugged, watching the foam dissipate across crashing waves, of the shimmering facade of the ocean moon out across the deep horizon. 

“I suppose. It’s nice, but… I, um - I haven’t been on a lot of dates.” 

Clarke scoffed, feigning quizzical outrage. “No way. Lexy, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re  _ slammin’ _ . You must have had women all over the shop trying to hook up with you.” 

Lexa blushed, grinning slightly. She shook her head. “Not really. I was quiet. There was really only one person I dated before… before you.” 

“Really?” Clarke said, her voice now quieter, softer. It wasn’t mocking, or derisive. It was gently curious, not probing, but empathetic. 

Lexa nodded, smiling fondly, a faraway smile that felt strange upon her lips, as if it were the one she hadn’t felt in years. 

“Her name was Costia.” 

A quiet wind blew across the bay, the smell of roses and sea salt upon their lips. 

She hadn’t expected the evening to come to this, but Lexa must have known somewhere deep inside that it was going to come around sooner or later. After all, she had come back to  _ their  _ Promenade,  _ their _ restaurant;  _ their  _ spot. And though the scar that seared deep within her had long since faded, Lexa couldn’t help but feel a faint ache, a distant and quiet echo of what was once a great upheaval, of a wrenching sorrow and a crippling anguish that had torn her, left her crippled and broken and tired beyond all measure. Nowadays, the memory hurt more than anything. Nowadays, it left her alive, but quiet in reminiscence.

Clarke’s voice broke the surface of that memory. “...Lexa?” 

Lexa’s head snapped up, suddenly aware of the silence. “I’m sorry, I - I probably shouldn’t have brought that up -”

“Lexa, you -”

“It was a long time ago, silly, irrelevant -” 

Clarke grabbed her hand, drawing Lexa to face her. She startled at the concerned expression that Clarke wore, confused as to why she would be looking so worried. 

Until she felt the quiet tears running down her cheek. 

“You’re crying, Lexa.” Clarke said softly. “If you need to, talk about her. Tell me about Costia.”

It wasn’t exactly a command, but it wasn’t a question either. Lexa glanced down into the waters below, sniffling quietly, dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She knew from the way Clarke spoke that she wanted to know, genuinely, and that whatever she said, that she would be nothing less than understanding and compassionate. 

She knew Clarke would never be anything less than that. 

They sat in silence for what felt like forever, with nothing but the sound of Lexa’s quiet sobs and the rumble of the sea to keep them company. The Promenade lanterns dulled during the deep evening, but the rising moon turned what was gold to silver, shining brightly through the clearest night. 

After a time, Lexa spoke, quietly at first, through a hoarse voice. “Her… Her name was Costia.” She repeated, feeling the reassuring squeeze of Clarke’s hand on hers. “She -  _ We,  _ were in love. Years and years ago.” Lexa gazed up to the moon, hoping the gentle light would soothe the turbulence she felt roiling within her with every word she spoke. 

Clarke hummed quietly, rubbing soft circles into Lexa’s back. 

“What was she like?” 

“She was sweet.” Lexa said fondly, distant, drawing on memories she had buried away long ago. “And kind and bright and understanding. We met when I first started working, and… and she was the first person I could call my friend since Anya and I moved out of the House.

She… I worked with her. She was always saying that I worked myself too hard, and… I suppose she was right. I was travelling a lot for work at the time, and getting really stressed out. We’d talk almost every night, but it was - it was hard. Time-differences, constant meetings, that kind of thing. Costia was always saying I should get into creative writing, so I’d have more time, but I - I never did.” 

Lexa paused, sniffling, a painful lump in her throat. She could feel Clarke’s presence, never wavering beside her, the soothing touch upon her hand, against her back. She was grateful for this - For Clarke, that she would listen, and that she would understand. 

“What happened to her?” Clarke said quietly. 

“She… she wanted to visit me. Bought a ticket out to the other side of the country. On the way, her plane - the engine, something went wrong and…"

Clarke’s hand faltered, for the first time. Lexa heard her sharp breath, a tension in her body. She felt her hand tighten, then release.

"...and she never made it.”

Clarke paused, if only for a second. “I’m sorry, Lexa.” 

There was nothing but pure, tender compassion in her voice. Lexa nodded in appreciation. 

“I was waiting at the airport for hours, before they told us. There were families, a lot of people around me, but… I don’t remember hearing anything. They must have been crying, screaming, even. I remember nodding, then… driving back to the hotel they put me up in. At some point I think I might have cried, called Anya or something, but… I don’t remember a lot about what happened after.” 

Her chest felt heavy, heavier than it had been in a long time, and yet curiously light, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, the pain of a burden relinquished. 

Her voice was hoarse, but her eyes were dry, and her hands were steady. 

Lexa turned to Clarke. She hadn’t realized how close they were, both gazing out to sea. She gave Clarke’s hand a gentle squeeze, one that had become so familiar to the two of them. 

“I’m sorry, Clarke, I…” She said quietly, her voice now steady. “I know that - that  _ now _ of all times, probably should not have been the time to bring it up.”

Clarke shook her head, an earnest smile upon her lips. “No, I’m glad you told me. It - it was good that you did, I think. It was something that was important to you, and if it’s important to you, then it’s important to me. You really cared for her, Lexa.” 

Lexa nodded. “I did, long ago.” She turned once again to face Clarke. “But now I… I care about you, Clarke. I truly do, more than anything else.” 

Clarke laughed softly. “I care about you too, Lexa. You… Thank you. For sharing that with me. For… For trusting me.” 

They leaned against each other, shoulder to shoulder, hands intertwined as they gazed off into the endless ocean, the waves now a serene symphony. 

Clarke broke the air with a sudden laugh. 

Lexa turned with curious eyes, a hesitant grin on her face. “What’s so funny?” 

Clarke smiled as she wiped at her own eyes. “I don’t know. It’s just… being here, with you, and - I was wrong; this  _ is  _ different to just hanging out. Not too different, mind you, but - but in a good way.” She laughed. “I wouldn't feel this way if I was just hanging out with my neighbour.” 

“Friend,” Lexa corrected her. “When you’re with your friend.” She leaned against Clarke, smiling warmly at her, who returned it wholeheartedly. “And I think you’re wrong; I think this is  _ very _ different to when we are  _ hanging out _ as friends.”

“Oh?” Clarke quirked. “How do you figure.” 

Lexa blushed fiercely, eyes darting down to Clarke’s lips.

“Well, for one, I’d very much like to kiss you now.” 

The moon glinted from its perch in the sky. 

Clarke’s eyes widened at the words, lips parting slightly as Lexa shifted closer, her fingers tightening around hers. She could smell the scent of Clarke’s perfume, aromatic but light. She could see the glint of eagerness in her eyes, every inch of blush that spread over her cheeks, and the way her breath hitched with every other beat. 

Clarke’s eyes fluttered, glancing down to Lexa’s own lips, Lexa’s hands coaxing forth a soft gasp as they caressed Clarke’s cheek. Lexa holds back, if only just for a second, waiting for a sense of hesitancy, of reluctance, but it never comes. Instead, she feels a warmth radiating from her, eager and earnest. 

“May I…?” Lexa breathed, head tilted just slightly, mere inches from Clarke. 

Clarke’s response is sharp, breathless. 

“Yes.” 

Clarke moans quietly with the first touch, at the softness of Lexa's lips on hers, gentle but curious, eagerly learning the rhythm they’re falling into. Lexa feels Clarke’s hand reach up, running through her hair to gently rest upon the nape of her neck, finding purchase as she presses again and again against Lexa’s wanting lips. 

A flame erupts within Lexa, and each time Clarke’s lips touch to steal her breath, Lexa feels her drawing the flame brighter and brighter too. It roars for more, an all consuming urge that clouds her mind and chases every last thought from her that tells her to do anything other than continue kissing Clarke. It’s intoxicating, a drop of pure ecstatic euphoria that sings to her, that leaves her furious and ecstatic each time she hears Clarke’s sighs of joy, every time Clarke's lips shudder in pleasure against her mouth. 

Lexa feels the fervour growing, their kisses becoming heavier, heated, bolder to nip at each other’s lips, pulling just long enough to elicit the most wonderful gasps and moans. It’s a powerful ambrosia that sings to every nerve in Lexa’s body, that leaves her lips burning, that causes her brow to furrow in agony, knowing the bliss she feels won’t ever, ever be greater than what she feels now - 

They break finally, foreheads pressed against each other, gazing deep into the other’s eyes, their noses softly nudging. At once they break into fits of euphoria, of quiet, pure laughter and complacent, satisfied sighs. 

They stay like this, until Lexa wrinkles her nose. 

Clarke smirks uncertainly. “What’s up?” she says quietly. 

Lexa pauses, biting her lip. 

“Your breath stinks of garlic.” She teases.

Clarke feigns offense, hissing at Lexa, who recoils at the scent. Before she recovers, Clarke’s on her feet, offering a hand up.

“If we go back to mine, I can brush my teeth.” 

Lexa smirks, pale moonlight reflected in Clarke’s eager eyes. 

Lexa doesn’t need much convincing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man, you know how i have nothing but happiness in the tags? well colour me a big fat liar. 
> 
> thanks for everyone who has been leaving kind comments! I read and reply to them all, and they're all greatly appreciated. sorry there was such a delay between chapters - i foolishly decided to take up the korrasami week challenge, and i'm still not done with that - but hopefully this over 10k words chapter will make up for it! 
> 
> there's no plot. things just happen. im sorry. 
> 
> thanks for reading!


	11. Interlude - Anya's Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya recalls a faint and distant memory from her time living at the House.
> 
> [RANDOM ANGST]

**_Fifteen years ago..._ **

The church bell rang out, deep and far from dulcet, echoing across the courtyard. Too loud to ignore, with slow, uneven clanging so that nobody could predict whether the most recent resounding reverberation was going to be the last. Anya hated that bell, but at least it meant it was time for her to get out of class. Pulling her hood down, she shuffled towards the exit, keen to get back to her dorm and - 

"Miss Lachman, you'll remember to bring your studies tomorrow, I hope?" 

Anya peeked out sheepishly from underneath her hoodie. "Of course."

The matron glowered at her. "Of course...?"

Anya's eyes twitched, desperately holding back a vicious roll. "Of course, Matron Josephine." 

She ignored the snickering from her classmates behind her. 

"Good," Josephine quipped. "Off you go, then." 

"Bitch." Anya muttered, hurrying out the door before Josephine could call her back.

Her dorm was across the courtyard, in one of the quieter sections and furthest away from the Matron's quarters. Despite being called _the House_ , the grounds were actually made up of several small buildings across a larger plot of land. Leaves danced across the concrete in the afternoon breeze, drifting from sleepy trees that swayed with the autumn winds, shedding their foliage in preparation for their own long sleep. Anya didn't care much for the scenery - she was too focused on the familiar itch tickling her brain. Subconsciously, she felt around in the front pocket of her bag, her fingers tracing the tips of several cheap, lifted cigarettes. 

_Lex is probably already waiting for me._

Anya doesn't pay much attention to the other kids on her floor. It works out pretty well actually, she doesn't care about getting to know any of them, and none of them care about getting to know her. Anya's sure that Lexa would probably want to hang out with her if she was a senior as well, but until that happens Anya is on her own. She wakes up alone, eats alone, goes to classes alone, and goes to bed alone. Sometimes whole days pass where she doesn't speak to anyone. 

She's fine with it - really, she is. That's not to say that it doesn't hurt, but she'd rather be left alone, than to be told that she's loved, and then left to be forgotten. 

 _It's okay,_ she thinks to herself, _I'll just grab Lex and we can go to our usual spot._

Which would be a reasonable plan, if it were not for the sight that greeted her when she stepped into her room.

Her door was ajar, afternoon light spilling into the hallway. She glanced around her, but the corridor was equally devoid - all the other doors on her floor were closed, and no culprit was present. She tiptoed towards her room hesitantly, peering in, and felt her heart bottom out.

Someone had clearly been into her room, ransacking the place. Her mattress was upturned, sheets smeared with dirt and pillows torn, their feather-down filling scattered around the room. Her window was open, what few personal clothes she had were hanging from the tree branches outside. Her books, the few places to which she could escape to, were completely destroyed, either torn and shredded, or wet with ink and water, completely destroyed. 

But the worst were the messages smeared against her cabinet mirror in red marker.

_"LONER. NOBODY LOVES YOU."_

_"YOUR OWN FAMILY FUCKING REJECTED YOU."_

_"JUST LEAVE. MAKE IT EASIER FOR EVERYONE."_

She could see the tears wanting to burst from her own reflection. Gangly, with knotted, unkempt hair that fell far too far past her shoulders. Thin, bony arms and legs in a hoodie and uniform that didn't fit her right, with a gaunt face from eating too little and bags under her eyes from staying up far too late, reading the very same books that now lay ruined beside her. 

"Like what we've done with the place?" 

Anya turns to find two of the other kids in her dorm standing by her door. 

"Fuck off." Anya spits at them. "Just leave me alone." 

"You're _always_ alone, Anya." One of them sneers. "So we thought we'd do you a favour. Maybe some birds and rats will be your friends now." 

Anya grits her teeth, jaw clenched and hands balled into fists. "You fucked everything up." 

The other laughs coldly. "That's not a thank you. Do we have to make you say thank you, Lachman? Oh, sorry - _Woods_?"

"What kind of _stupid_ name is Woods, anyway?" 

The two bullies laugh to each other, their shrill voices burrowing deep into Anya's head.

They step towards her, malice in their eyes. "C'mon, she's probably got something in her bag-"

Anya backs up against her desk. "Stay the _fuck_ away from me-"

"Anya?" 

The bullies turn from their spot in the middle of Anya's room, to face the girl now standing behind them. She's small, too young to be assigned to this dorm. She has to be a junior for sure, with straight brown hair and huge glasses that magnify her eyes several times over. Her hands are clasped tightly around a blue backpack, and a plastic bag holding two bottles of juice. 

Anya bites down, and forces herself not to cry. "Go back to your room, Lexa." 

Fear sits firm in Lexa's eyes, eyes that glance from Anya, to the bullies, to the ruined state of the room. 

The bullies take their opportunity to advance on Lexa instead. "You're not supposed to be here." 

Lexa's stands firmly in place, but Anya knows that it's only because she's paralysed with fear.

"What have you got here?"

Anya takes a step forward, just as one of them reaches for Lexa. "Get away from her!"

One of the bullies turns around, sneering. "Or what, _Woods_? We're doing you a favour - she'll probably just _leave you too -_ " 

No snide laugh follows the quip. Instead, a dull thud and sickening crunch is heard as Anya's fist closes in on the closest bully's cheekbone. She can hear the soft sound of something cracking, and she's not sure whether it's her fist or whatever bone she came into contact with.

The bully she hits falls to the floor like a sack of bricks, dazed and confused. The other bully, still standing, gawks with mouth agape at Anya, their stunned expression turning to fear as Anya turns to glare at them. Awkwardly, the two scramble out the door, one clutching their head as blood runs down their face, staining their uniform.

It's only when they're gone that Lexa approaches the figure of Anya, slumped at the foot of her ruined mattress. Lexa places a small hand on Anya's arm. She can feel her sobbing, shaking as she cries silently.

"You punched them." Lexa says softly.

Anya manages a hoarse laugh between sobs. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"You're going to get into trouble."

"Probably."

Lexa pauses, deep in thought. "Do you want some juice?"

"What?"

"Juice." Lexa pulls a bottle from the plastic bag. "Always makes me feel better."

Anya stares at Lexa from beneath her hood, tears streaming down her cheek. "Yeah, sure. T-thanks... Thanks, Lex."

Anya reaches out to grab the bottle, and Lexa gasps when she sees Anya's knuckles are all bruised and bloody as well.

"Your hand-" 

Anya recoils. "It's fine."

Lexa shakes her head. "Show me."

Anya doesn't have the strength to resist. She lets Lexa pull her hand towards her, turning it over in her smaller, softer hands. She winces as Lexa puts pressure against her knuckles, dabbing at them with a napkin she pulls from her bag.

"There." Lexa says, after the blood has been cleaned up. "It's still bruised, though."

"Yeah," Anya sighs. "That'll happen when you punch someone."

Lexa stares up at Anya, who in turn stares absently out the window. Anya only turns back, eyes wide, when she feels Lexa lifting her bruised knuckles to her face, placing a soft kiss against the back of her hand.

"What-"

"I won't go anywhere." Lexa says quietly.

Anya stares at her, and for a moment she feels like the tears might come back. After a moment, she pulls Lexa into a tight hug.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY.  
> I have a lot of feelings from finishing one of my other fics, so here's some angsty angst, but it's in the past so not reflective of the current-day events of the story! Kinda.  
> I'm slowly getting back into the style of Hey There, Neighbour. I've reread through my notes and the fic again, so hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of things, but I wanted to just throw something up since it's been so long. I've probably contradicted myself somewhere here in this mini-update, caused some sort of time paradox and whatnot, so if you've noticed any errors in consistency, please feel free to call me out on it.  
> Anyway, it's good to be back. I'm not going to give a date for when the next chapter is coming out, but know that it's on its way. Thanks!


	12. Birds, Bees, and Butterflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa both recount their first date to their friends, to mixed receptions. Then something awkward happens.  
> [Slightly NSFW]

**On the drive back...**

They could barely contain their giddiness on the way back. 

Their drive home was quieter now that evening had fallen. The streets were devoid of traffic, and a chill had settled in its place, and yet even then the seconds still seemed to drag on, and on. It didn’t help that it seemed every single red light was out to betray them, leaving them to sit in electric silence with Lexa’s hands gripped tight upon the wheel, and Clarke’s legs crossed to prevent jittering. It was in these moments that the two of them most often exchanged the occasional sheepish, fleeting glance and muffled giggle. 

Their energy persisted as they arrived in the apartment complex, practically bolting from the car, through the garage and into the elevator like two startled deer, hammering at the buttons as if their force would physically manifest into kinetic energy to push the elevator faster. Seconds later though, they would be resigned to the familiar sound of scraping metal as the elevator made no obvious effort to speed them to their destination. 

Though that did little to discourage them. They stood in jubilant, almost ticklish quiet, perfectly still side by side, hand in sweaty hand as the elevator grumbled skyward. Every now and then, like in the car, Clarke would steal a glance of Lexa. Sometimes she’d catch her staring at the floor with the same wry, eager smile on her face, and other times she’d catch Lexa staring back. 

On those occasions they’d giggle, and Lexa would instinctively look away, hiding the soft pink hue setting into her cheeks behind the paper-thin ruse of having to tuck a strand of hair behind her own ear. Clarke’s own face would grow red and hot, and she’d impatiently glance up at the rising numbers on the elevator dashboard. 

When the elevator door finally  _ dinged  _ and opened, they were at Clarke’s apartment door within seconds. Of course, it had to be this moment that Clarke would fumble around in her purse for keys. 

As if fate would have it any other way. 

Lexa stood beside Clarke, a snide smirk curling in the corner of her lips as she watched Clarke grow increasingly frustrated. “Something wrong, Clarke?” Lexa teased. 

She spoke too soon of course, for half-a-second later, Clarke flourished her keys triumphantly, with six or seven novelty keychains jangling in loud glory. 

They were heavy, but it was worth it.

“Never again.” Clarke said, unlocking the door with a rattling din. “Although - I’ve been meaning to give  _ this  _ to you -” 

Clarke turned back to Lexa, and slipped a spare key off her chain, pressing it into Lexa’s hand. 

Lexa held up the small silver key. “What is this for?”

Clarke shrugged, grinning. “You’re a friend, and a neighbour, right? You should have a spare key in case I - and I can’t stress how  _ unlikely  _ this is - get locked out again.” 

Winking, Clarke strolled casually into the darkened apartment, leaving a bemused Lexa standing by the door, idly eyeing the key in her hand, before hurrying in after her.  

“Make yourself at home,” Clarke said, pawing at the wall for the light switch. “I’ll, uh - be back in a sec.” 

When the lights came on, it seemed like a completely unfamiliar scene had been conjured before Lexa. Clarke had given the apartment her best efforts in preparation; The kitchen had been wiped down, and no empty bottles sat idly upon the countertops to quietly judge their antics. 

Her laundry had been done and neatly folded away; at least, by Clarke’s standards they were. They sat in a warm, fresh bundle at the foot of her wardrobe, but better it sat there than splayed out across the lounge. 

Speaking of which, the lounge had received a most brutal vacuuming, thanks to Raven. Her ‘upgraded’ cleaner had eaten half the carpet, but after they managed to wrangle it free, Clarke had to admit that it did look better than it did before. Clarke had even found the time to stop by the store to purchase some oranges and bananas, just so she’d have something to place in the fruit bowl that her mother had bought her, sitting atop the polished coffee table in front of a meticulously cleaned, yet nonetheless squashy couch. There was no guarantee that she’d ever consume them, though had to admit, Clarke was trying to be healthier. 

In fact, the only thing that hinted that Clarke Griffin was the intended resident of this apartment, were the five or six canvases that leaned against the window-side wall. To these, Lexa felt an almost magnetic attraction towards, strolling quietly to examine them closer. A few were glistening wet, their oils and acrylics still slick and drying behind a magnificent easel, upon which sat yet another, larger canvas, detailed and lovingly caressed with paints, but unfinished. Still, of what there was suggested a grand panoramic scene, cliffs of white and silver standing high into the sky, and the merest hint of water crashing upon rocks below. 

“Like it?” 

Lexa jumped at the voice over her shoulder. Clarke laughed, narrowly avoiding a soft punch thrown in her direction. Lexa pouted, turning her attention back to the painting. 

“This is beautiful, Clarke.” Lexa said, standing before the easel. A palette hung from the corner, paintbrushes drying, clipped to a length of wire that dangled from the exposed pipes that traced the ceiling. Lexa picked up a dry, unused flat brush and dabbed it against her palm, the bristles soft and lovingly cared for. 

“It’s not finished.” Clarke sighed, running her hands through her hair. “Hopefully, it’s… I don’t know... I want it to be my - my centrepiece of the exhibit.” She sighed, surveying her own work as she stood beside Lexa, hands crossed across her chest. “Can’t seem to finish it though.” 

Lexa turned ever-so-slightly to Clarke as she pondered the other art piece that stood before her. It was fascinating to her, every detail in Clarke’s face as her mind pulled the artwork apart and mentally put it back together again, the way her forehead creased in concentration, the way her lips pouted, the way her nose wiggled slightly as her mind explored the many different dimensions of her painting. It wasn’t until Clarke turned to meet her gaze, that Lexa realized she had been staring for more than the few seconds it felt like. 

“S-sorry.” Lexa said, turning her eyes back to the painting, red-faced, hiding a sheepish grin. “I was - distracted.” 

Lexa only managed to hide her embarrassment for a second before Clarke’s hands once again found Lexa’s, pulling her closer. 

“You think I’m distracting, huh?” Clarke whispered, grinning. 

Lexa’s eyes darted from Clarke’s, to her lips, parted and quivering, just slightly. 

“Impossibly.” Lexa replied. 

Their lips found each others effortlessly, and the moment of shock washed and passed over Lexa like a sudden storm, turbulent and frightful, settling into the soothing touch that sent rippling waves of euphoria throughout her. 

Lexa’s hands found their way into Clarke’s mussed hair, cupping the back of her head as she drew her deeper into the embrace, each breath she stole from Clarke, a gasp and moan of ecstasy. 

Clarke’s own hands found Lexa’s waist, feeling her body tighten beneath her palms, tense, yet excited. She was strong, and passionate, yet delicate in her touch, and Clarke’s heart raced at the thought of what lay underneath. 

And then -

 

**In Clarke’s apartment the following day.**

Raven leaned closer over the breakfast bar. “Then what happened?” She shouts, slamming her hand upon Clarke’s countertop. “I demand deets, Griffin! Spill those juicy, juicy beans!” 

Clarke shrugged, stirring a third spoonful of sugar through her coffee. “That’s all that happened.” 

Raven paused, arm raised as if threatening another counter-top bashing. Her eyes narrowed as her brain processed Clarke’s words. “You - you guys just… made out for a bit?” 

Clarke nodded, sipping her sweet-as-heck coffee. “Yup.” Clarke smiled to herself, satisfied with her saccharine caffeine. 

On the other hand, Raven’s face twisted into one of supreme incredulity. 

“No way.”

“What?”

“No way! There’s no way I’m going to believe that that’s  _ all  _ you two randy kids did.”

Clarke laughed. “I don’t know what to tell you, Rae-Rae.” 

Raven wobbled dangerously on her stool. “What are you talking about, Clarke?! With all the eye-fucking you two have been doing, the whole _ will they, won’t they  _ dialogue that’s been going on -”

“Raven, please -”

“- you just  _ smooched  _ for a bit?!” 

Clarke laughed exasperatedly. “Yes! I - I don’t know what you - do you want me to fuckin’ make up some shit, or something?!” Clarke tilted her head back in mock concentration. “Oh, oh yeah -  _ Lexa bit her lip, eyes eagerly taking in the sight of my naked chest- _ ”

“Fuck off, Griffin!” Raven shouted. “That just sounds like bad fanfiction.” 

The look on Raven’s face was glorious, and one that Clarke would cherish for some time. It was the perfect mixture of exasperated confusion, and bemused outrage. It was an expression that Clarke was sure that even if she were an accomplished writer, she wouldn’t be able to perfectly encapsulate it in words. 

Although the phrase  _ fucking astounded _ did spring to Clarke’s mind. 

“C’mon, Clarke,” Raven groaned in disbelief. “I tell you everything that happens between Anya and me.” 

Despite the overly-sweetened coffee, a sour look passed over Griffin’s face. “I don’t - literally no-one is asking you to do that.” 

Raven rolled her eyes. “But I do anyway - that’s  _ altruism _ , Griffin. It’s not right to keep secrets between friends.” 

“There’s - there’s no secret to tell! And that’s not even what altruism -” Clarke laughed exasperatedly. “Seriously, we didn’t do anything more than kiss a bunch.” 

She blushed at the memory, but Raven dropped her chin to her hand, before immediately springing straight back up, eyes narrowed, a thought striking her hard. 

“You were too  _ nervous  _ to make a move.”

Clarke scoffed into her coffee. “What?”

“You were too nervous. Scared. It’s been - how long? Must be at least a few months - maybe even a  _ year  _ now. God, Griffin, cold feet?  _ You _ ? Never would have guessed it.”

It was Clarke’s turn to roll her eyes. “It hasn’t been… N-no Idea what you’re talking about.” Clarke mumbled, stuffing her creeping blush into her mug. “I’ve had… company.” 

“Oh yeah?” Raven said, leaning back in her chair to stare down Clarke over her nose. “ _ Name ‘em _ .” 

“There was… Mike.”

Raven quirked a brow. “Mmmmike?”

“And… And Susan.”

“Susan and Mike.” Raven said, deadpan. “Holy shit, Griffin. I’d buy you improv classes but then you’d literally never get laid.” 

Had she not already perfectly sweetened her coffee, and had she not spent all that time meticulously cleaning her apartment, she would have hurled it in Raven’s direction. Still, Raven could sense that she had bested Clarke.

Again. 

Raven snickered. “Yeah, well - if it wasn’t you, it must have been Lexa then.” 

Clarke flushed an even deeper red. “Raven, that’s -”

“Yeah, yeah, never kiss and tell,” Raven said, hopping off the barstool and hobbling over to the door. “Listen, I’m hungry. We’re going to get a burrito, and a beer -”

Clarke glanced at her watch. “Raven, it’s - it’s not even eleven in the morning -”

Raven ignored her, dropping onto a stool that Clarke had placed by the door for Raven’s convenience, to lace up her boot. 

“And I’m going to tell you all about the wild sex that Anya and I are having, and maybe - just maybe, you’ll be able to find your mojo again.”

Clarke sighed, draining the rest of her coffee. “You’re not going to take no for an answer are you?”

Raven hopped to her foot, beaming wide. “Nope.” 

“Does it have to be burritos?”

“Yep.”

 

**Meanwhile, at Lexa’s office downtown…**

“Ms Woods? Your lunch orders have arrived -”

“Thank you, Titus.” Lexa gestures to an empty spot on her desk - a rare find in itself. “You can place it here.” 

The rest of Lexa’s desk is piled up high with reports and drafts that won’t end up anywhere useful, that Lexa will still nonetheless complete and send within the appropriately agreed-upon timeframe. 

Anya glances up from her phone as Titus approaches, from her spot splayed out across the two chairs sitting on the opposite side of Lexa’s desk. They’re normally reserved for consultants and professionals visiting Lexa’s office, but they’re now a makeshift lounge for Anya and Anya’s leather boots, with little regard for Lexa’s frequent hints that she doesn’t very much approve of Anya’s leather boots on Lexa’s leather chairs. 

But it’s almost routine between the two of them by now. It’s not like Lexa expects anyone else to interrupt them, much less join them. Most of Lexa’s coworkers are familiar with Anya’s presence, but many, if not all, are still very much intimidated by the spiked, leather-clad woman coming to visit possibly the most rigid person on the floor, if not the building.

If not the city.

If not the world.

If not the… so on, so forth.  

“Careful, Titus,” Anya smirks. “That’s  _ Mrs _ Lexa Woods to you now.” 

Titus pauses, arms laden with box upon box of thai food; Anya’s suggestion. Titus shifts uneasily in his crisp, clean suit, turning his look of confusion to Lexa. “Ms... Mrs - Ms Woods, did you get  _ married _ ?”

Anya chimes in before Lexa can respond. “Oh, yes - didn’t you know?” She raises a brow, smiling excitedly. “I mean, sure - it was just a  _ date _ , but we might as well start planning the wedding-” 

Lexa rolls her eyes; eyes that return immediately to the screens in front of her. She snaps vaguely at Titus and Anya as she continues furiously typing a furious email, if anything with more fury than before.

“No,” Lexa’s response is sharp, pouting in an effort to remain focused on her task at hand. “My friend here is just trying to make a joke. Not a very good one, I might add.”

Anya shrugs, a look of amused offense flashing over her face. “Excuse you; I thought it was pretty good.” She turns ever-so-slightly towards Titus. “Don’t you think so, Titus?” 

Titus edges around the table, moreso to put what little space that can be found in Lexa’s office between him and Anya, and relieves his arms of their lunch. In doing so, it gives him full reign to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck as Anya stares daggers in his general direction. 

“I, uh - erm, well -”

Lexa swoops in at the last moment, having tapped the  _ send _ button with a satisfying  _ click. _

“Thank you, Titus.” Lexa waves to dismiss him. “You may go.”  

He barely turns a degree before Anya swivels on her chair, long denim-clad legs blocking his path. 

“Hold on, Titus. I want to hear what you thought -”

Lexa’s jaw clenches, and the leather of her chair creaks dangerously as she reclines, eyes-narrowed and wary. “Titus. You may -”

“-Stay a moment, Titus. In fact, why don’t you join-”

Lexa stands up sharply. “ _ Out _ , Titus.” 

Titus scarpers as soon as Lexa rises to her feet, awkwardly jumping over Anya’s legs and scuttling down the hallway, frightened footfalls echoing as he disappears into the distance. 

Anya spares half a second before bursting into laughter, lifting her legs to once again splay herself across the two seats. Lexa sighs and falls back into her leather chair, burying her face into her palms - if only to hide her reluctant grin. 

“I really wish you wouldn’t torture my co-workers,” Lexa quips, as Anya hands her a bottle of juice, fetched from one of the many plastic bags. “I still have to work with them after you leave, you know.” 

Anya takes a long sip of her own juice bottle before dabbing at her mouth with the back of her hand  - but the smug smile is still there. “Please,” she scoffs, pawing at the rest of the take-away containers until she finds her own order. “If I didn’t inject some humour into your work days, you’d have died of boredom ages ago.” 

Lexa sighs - not so much out of Anya’s response. She’s grateful for her visits, truly. She’s just preparing herself for what Anya’s going to say next. 

“I mean; why do you still work here, Lex? You’ve got so much talent. Honestly, you should -”

“Because it’s safe, Anya.” Lexa speaks through her nostrils, those very words that she’s spoken a thousand times, riding her exhale as she pops open a container of pad thai. “It’s safe, and it pays well.” 

It’s Anya’s turn to roll her eyes, and she makes a much more animated event out of it, but she drops the subject - for the most part, anyway. They both know they’ll revisit the subject the next time Anya comes to deliver an impromptu lunch break.

“Fine - you keep slaving away instead of doing what you love, Lexy.” Anya says between spoonfuls of nasi goreng. “But promise me you’ll learn to appreciate a well-crafted joke.” 

Lexa pauses, half-sip of juice, to raise an eyebrow. “Such as your clever  _ Mrs Wood _ s joke?” 

Anya closes her eyes like she’s savouring a fine wine. “Comedy gold.” 

Lexa snorts. “It doesn’t even make sense.” 

Anya freezes, face scrunched up in mock concentration. “You’re right. Should’ve been  _ Mrs Lexa Griffin, _ right, Lexy?” 

Anya’s smirk is as broad as the blush on Lexa’s cheeks is deep. When Lexa’s done simmering like a kettle and Anya’s smug gaze turns to a soft smile, she breaks the comfortable silence with a gentle, genuine question. 

“So,” Anya says, draining the last of her juice. “Am I ever going to hear about how your little date went, or am I going to have to keep prodding?” 

Lexa leans back into her leather chair, a long complacent sigh slipping through a smile that tugs at the corner of her pursed lips. She runs her hands through her hair, resting around her neck, where a familiar spot still burns at the touch. 

“It was  _ wonderful _ , Anya.” 

Anya quirks an eyebrow, mouthing a silent -  _ oh? Do go on.  _

Lexa chuckles to herself, biting her lip softly. “We went to the italian restaurant by the promenade.” 

“Oh, man.” Anya takes a breath as her eyes gloss over for a moment, fond memories singing to her.  “Nice choice - I haven’t been back there in  _ forever _ . Do they still do that -”

“They do.” Lexa grins. 

Anya groans. “My  _ favourite. _ ” It takes Anya a good five minutes before she’s brought back to the subject at hand. “And then?” 

“We walked along the promenade.” Lexa can barely contain her giddiness. “And... then I kissed her.” 

Anya’s fist shoots into the air, almost upending a box of takeout over Lexa’s desk.

“Yes! Yes, Lexy!” She lets loose a muffled scream, very considerate of Lexa’s workmates who would no doubt have done little to address her if Anya had chosen to go full volume. “That’s what I’m  _ talking about! _ ” 

Lexa smiles through pursed lips, swelling with a warm sense of pride at Anya’s celebration. Anya’s still surfing her high when she calms down enough to ask her next question. 

“So, how was it?” 

Lexa scrunches up her face slightly in reminiscence. 

“Wet.” 

Anya recoils slightly. “Eugh.” 

Lexa snorts. “I was crying.” She knows her defense is shoddy, but it’s the truth. 

“What the  _ fuck, _ ” Anya whispers, tilting her head slightly. “Not much of an excuse, Lexy.” 

Lexa lets slip an exasperated laugh, warmth flooding her cheeks once again. “It was a…  very  _ emotional  _ moment, Anya. But the kiss was… Lovely. And not isolated.” 

Anya blinks away her doubts, chuckling to herself. “Whatever you say.” She rests her leather clad elbows on the edge of Lexa’s desk, leaning forward, eyebrows raised suggestively. “So, was it  _ her  _ place, or  _ yours _ ?”

Lexa hides her grin behind the flimsy ruse of adjusting her glasses. “Hers.” 

Anya gives a low whistle. “You  _ hound _ , Lexy.” She leans back in her seat, watching Lexa carefully over the ridge of her nose. “And then…?”

“She kissed me again.” Lexa said, emboldened. 

“ _ Niiiiice. _ ” 

Lexa clears her throat. “And then I went home.” 

“Ni - what?” 

Anya’s eyes blink in confusion. 

“You went home? Like, back across the hall?” 

Lexa nods. “Yes.”

“Oh - did Clarke come with you?” 

“... No,” Lexa pauses. “Why would she do that?” 

Anya’s thoroughly confused. “You went home, alone?” 

Lexa nods, a flicker of confusion passing over her. “Yes.” She waits for Anya to interject, but she doesn’t, so she fills the suddenly awkward silence between them. “It was a good night.” 

Anya looks confused. Brow furrowed, lip curled as if though a thousand questions intend to burst forth. Several times she opens her mouth, only to shake her head and furrow her brow deeper. 

Finally, Anya nods to herself, half-shrugging. “Nope - you know what? Yeah. sounds like you had a pretty good night, Lexy.” 

Lexa doesn’t buy it. “What is it? Was I - was I   _ supposed _ to do something else?” 

Lexa’s voice is cold, aggressive, almost interrogating. She usually only reserves this tone for business partners that don’t know their place, for interviews where her superiors are being the stubborn fools they’re hired to be. Anya glances away,  _ mostly _ unaffected, a feigned look of nonchalance and noncommitment settling into her cheeks. 

“Well, I  _ mean  _ \- it’s not like,” Anya swallows, struggling for words for the first time. “I shouldn’t - I dunno,  _ assume _ or anything, and it’s - there’s nothing wrong, with what  _ you _ did, it’s just - I thought -” 

“Anya,” Lexa whispers dangerously, hands flat against her keyboard. “What are you saying?”

Anya sighs, fighting back an awkward smirk. “I… I just -  thought you would have spent the night!” Anya says through an awkward chuckle. “It’s been a while, and you seem to  _ really _ like Clarke, and so I just - I dunno, would have thought…” 

Lexa feels as if she’s been doused in a bucket of water. Not cold water, per se, because she’s feel far too warm in the face for it to have been cold water. 

Lexa’s eyes gloss over as she mentally retreats into herself. Anya’s disembodied voice floats through her mind, echoing and reverberating. 

_ “I thought you would have spent the night!”  _

_ “I thought… you would have… spent the night!”  _

_ “... spent… the night!”  _

_ “... the night! Spent…. The night!”  _

Clarke’s voice joins the fray. 

_ “You think I’m distracting, huh?”  _

_ “... I’m distracting, huh?”  _

_ “... huh?”  _

_ “Spent the night!”  _

The realization is enough to tear her back to reality. There’s only a momentary pause, before Lexa’s whole face scrunches up as she doubles over, burying her face into her hands. 

“Oh  _ god _ !” Lexa groans into her palms. “I - how did I - oh  _ god _ !”

Anya stands up in alarm, reaching awkwardly over Lexa’s desk to pat on her shoulder. 

“Lexy, its-”

Lexa looks up, cheeks bright red and eyes wide in horror and very, very delayed embarrassment. 

“She -  _ s-sex! _ ” Lexa splutters. “Clarke - I - we were going to - oh, oh _ god! _ ”

Anya glances around frantically, hoping against anything that none of Lexa’s coworkers dare to investigate exactly what it is that has brought Ms Lexa Woods such torment. 

“And I just - I just _ said thanks and left, _ Anya! She - How did I miss - What-” 

“It’s  _ fine _ , Lex!” Anya says, awkwardly stroking Lexa’s shoulder in a weak attempt at reassurance. “It’s not like - she  _ really  _ likes you, for sure-”

Lexa groans. “No, it’s - she probably thinks I’m  _ celibate  _ or - or some sort of -  _ inept _ .” She throws her glasses down across her keyboard, making a noise similar to a distressed beluga whale as she thumps her forehead upon the edge of her desk. 

Anya pales, hurriedly circling the table to grab both of Lexa’s shoulders in a more concerted effort to prevent the mild concussion Lexa seems intent on giving herself. 

“It’s okay, Lexy! It’s going to be - wow, okay  _ please  _ stop hitting yourself,” Anya gently shakes Lexa, pulling her gaze up to stare deep into her pained, green eyes. “Look - this isn’t even a big issue. All you have to do is - I dunno, go on another date, or whatever -  and if the mood seems right, then you can just, you know… put on that  _ Woods _ charm.” 

Lexa blinks, swallowing heavily and nodding as she processes each of Anya’s carefully chosen words. 

“You’re right.” Lexa says, clenching her jaw and hiccoughing simultaneously, patting down her mussed hair. “You’re right, Anya. This is silly.”

Anya leans against Lexa’s desk, sighing in relief. “Yeah, it’s not a big issue, Lex-”

“You’re right.” Lexa repeats, reaching for her phone. “I’m... going to ask her on another date.”

“Yeah. Good.”

“Right now.” 

“Yeah - wait,” Anya’s eyes grow wide. “Hold on-”

Anya’s too slow; Lexa’s already dialed Clarke. As luck would have it, it just so happens that Clarke was in a situation where she’d gladly take any distraction to get away from the conversation she’s was currently having. 

_ “Sorry, Rae, it’s - it’s Lexa. Hey, Lexa! What’s up?”  _

“Hello Clarke,” Lexa pauses, eyes wide as she realizes she’s just called Clarke on an impulse. “How... are you?”

_ “I’m good, thanks, how are -” _

Lexa’s too flustered to even comprehend Clarke’s response. Instead, she focuses on the task at hand, because she’s worried that the uncomfortable embarrassed gurgling in her stomach might take any extra seconds spent talking as a good opportunity to throw up.

“Clarke, would - would you like to go to dinner? Again? Tonight?” Lexa winces silently as the words tumble from her mouth. Beside her, Anya’s gripping the desk, white knuckled and almost drawing blood from the intensity with which she is biting her lip.

_ “I - um,”  _

Clarke hums a response. The silence in which Clarke takes to think only lasts a few seconds, but for Lexa it’s enough for her to reconsider every single one of her life choices. 

_ “Sure,”  _

Clarke says, after an excruciatingly long  pause. 

_ “What’s the plan?”  _

“P… Plan?” Lexa feels the colour drain from her face. She glances sideways to Anya, who shrugs violently. 

_ Don’t say have sex with you.  _

_ Don’t say have sex with you. _

_ Don’t say have sex with you.  _

“I’ll - I’ll figure... something out.” Lexa swallows the lump in her throat. “How about I pick you up around five, and we um… go from there?” 

Clarke chuckles curiously. 

_ “Playing it by ear? Very exciting, coming from you, Lex.” _

Lexa can  _ hear  _ the smile in Clarke’s words, and it’s almost too much for her. 

_ “Okay, I’m game. I’ll see you then, uh, then.”  _

Lexa unclenches her jaw in relief, and winces slightly, not realizing how hard she had been biting down. “Okay, I’ll see you tonight then. Then.”

Clarke laughs.  

_ “Looking forward to it!”  _

“Goodbye.” 

_ “Bye.”  _

_ Beep _ . 

Both Anya and Lexa hold their breath for a good ten seconds after the call ends. 

“Why was that so intense?” Anya pants, finally exhaling. 

Lexa breaks into a nervous, hesitant laughter. “I’m not sure.” 

Anya sighs, grabbing Lexa’s bottle of juice, perhaps with a bit more snap than usual. “So, what are you going to do? What’s the plan?” Anya pauses. “You  _ do _ have a plan, right?” 

Lexa’s mind races. “I’m not sure.”  

But she knows what she wants to do. 

_ I want to have sex with Clarke.  _

_ If she wants to. _

_ God, I hope she wants to.  _

Lexa blushes. She thinks Anya doesn’t notice, but she does. 

 

**Meanwhile, back at Clarke’s place...**

Raven’s voice echoes down the hallway, as they march towards Clarke’s apartment. 

“... So - what is that, three? So, her  _ fourth  _ piercing is actually pretty interesting; she  _ says _ she got it when she was travelling abroad, but something tells me that there’s this little place in -” 

Clarke sighs, her hand resting on her front door. “Please - Raven? I love you. I love you so much. But please stop talking about Anya’s body.” 

“Ah, c’mon!” Raven protests. “You won’t believe where piercings five and ten are!” 

Clarke snorts, unlocking her door. “Alright,  _ Buzzfeed -  _ Are you coming in or what?” 

Raven grins, but shakes her head. “Nah. I’ve got some work to do - and you’ve got to get ready for your date.” She beams, nudging Clarke coyly. “Two dates in a row? Can’t wait to hear about all the hot sex you’re  _ not  _ having.” 

Clarke rolls her eyes, and nudges Raven back, perhaps with a bit more force than intended. They laugh, they embrace, and they say their goodbyes as Clarke steps into her darkened apartment, alone for the first time today. 

For the first time in a while, actually. 

Clarke flicks on a switch, watching the warm, orange light crackle to life. She glances to her clock hanging from the opposite end of the living room as she sits down on the stool to unlace her boots. 

She’s got plenty of time to get ready. Clarke doesn’t know what Raven was even concerned about. 

Surprisingly though, Clarke’s kind of relieved, in a way. She loves Raven - really, she does. But even Clarke needs a bit of time to herself. It really does make all the difference. She wouldn’t want to be burnt out for her date with Lexa tonight, after all. 

It can’t be helped. Clarke’s feeling… Tired? Restless. Hungry? In a way. Fatigued, frustrated, flushed; perhaps it’s from being bombarded by Raven’s endless chatter all day. 

Maybe it’s from being bombarded by Raven’s endless chatter, _ about her and Anya’s sex life _ , all day. 

Clarke shuffles off her jacket as she drags her feet into her bedroom, letting it drop to the floor. She can clean it up later - she’s got  _ plenty  _ of time. The more poignant issue is how warm Clarke’s feeling all of a sudden, how tense her body has been for the past few hours or so.

Has it only been for the last few hours? Clarke doesn’t give it too much thought. 

Clarke lazily pushes her bedroom door slightly closed, slightly ajar - a habit developed ever since she started living alone. She throws herself down onto her bed, relishing in the coolness of the sheets, stretching out languidly, stifling a yawn. 

She’s got plenty of time. Enough to even take a nap. Clarke hurriedly does the mental arithmetic - if she falls asleep  _ now _ , and wakes up at  _ that time _ , then she’ll have  _ enough time _ to shower, get dressed, and primp for a good few minutes before Lexa’s bound to show up. 

Clarke wriggles herself out of her jeans, and lets them fall into a pile at the foot of her bed too. She can throw it into her laundry basket later. 

She has  _ so much time. _ Clarke’s going to really enjoy this nap. 

 

**Far past-the-time-when-she-was-meant-to-wake-up later…**

Clarke is  _ really _ enjoying this nap. She slips in and out of consciousness, on the precipice of the deep sleep, only barely, vaguely aware of the fact that she’s nestled atop her sheets, floating on a cloud of comfort. 

The precipice where dreams and conscious thoughts collide, with dizzying, worrying, frightful, and exciting tenacity. 

It’s here that Clarke sees Lexa. 

Full lips, gentle hands. The way Lexa seems to glide towards her, green eyes, that Clarke still doesn’t know how to describe, twinkling as she descends upon her from on high. Clarke gasps, as she almost feels Lexa’s lips upon hers, deft fingers running through her hair, firm hands sliding up a thigh - 

Clarke’s no fool. She’s known what this feeling was for a long time. She just held off on doing anything about it. 

But she can’t help it. 

Her own hands wander. Clarke lets the softest gasp slip from her lips as her fingers trace the elastic around her hips, imagining the palm placed squarely on her stomach were another’s. 

_ What the hell,  _ Clarke thinks.  _ I’ve got time. _

She really, really didn’t. 

 

**Meanwhile, across the hall, minutes before 5PM...**

Lexa hasn’t called Clarke to confirm their date - she thinks it would be  _ too much _ . Lexa’s trying to play it cool, after all. 

Trying, and failing. 

She’s pacing back and forth in her lounge, clothes lying discarded across every piece of furniture in a flurry of last-minute wardrobe changes. The outfit that seems to have survived the frenzy is a very smart jacket-blouse-heels combo; neat, tidy, and to Lexa,  _ incredibly sexy. _

She hopes. 

She’s also wearing the face of someone who looks consistently just slightly out of breath. Lexa’s been trying breathing exercises to calm herself, and she thinks they’re working, but every now and then the thought of  _ Clarke _ pops into her head, and once again she finds herself doubled over, hot-faced and panicking. 

“What’s the  _ matter _ with you, Lexa?” Lexa huffs to herself. “Get a grip! You’ve already been on a date with her - she’s your  _ neighbour _ \- you practically see her every day...” 

Easier said than done, though. Lexa feels like there’s a thousand butterflies in her stomach, and every single one of them has crippling anxiety. 

Lexa manages to compose herself once more, looking over her reflection in the vanity mirror hanging in her hallway, tugging at her blouse, smoothing out a crease in her trousers, turning her face left, right, tucking a stray strand of dark brown hair behind bright-red ears. 

Lexa swallows the lump in her throat. “Hello, Clarke,” she whispers, watching her reflection. “You look nice tonight.” 

She purses her lips, quirking an eyebrow.  _ Is that sexy? Is that - would that work?  _

“Hello, Clarke,” Lexa repeats, lower, quieter. “You’re looking - you look lovely, tonight. All - every night. You look.” 

She’s suddenly aware of how tall she looks. 

“Hi - hello, Clarke,”

How rigid her shoulders are. 

“You look… good.” 

How  _ unamused  _ her resting face seems. 

“You -” 

How big her glasses are. 

“I -”

Lexa’s phone blares an alarm. Lexa jumps, and one heart-wrenching pause later, she fumbles her phone from her pocket. 

_ 5:00PM.  _

Lexa takes one last glance at her reflection, and clenches her jaw, if only for a moment.

_ Clarke agreed to a date once - twice. It’s fine. She’s into me. I’m into her. It’s fine. _

_ It’s fine.  _

Lexa’s mental chant of  _ it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine  _ carries her to the hallway, locking her door behind her. She takes one last moment to smooth out any creases from her outfit, adjusting her glasses, and taking every opportunity she can to delay knocking on Clarke’s door. 

She runs through the scenario in her head. She’ll chat Clarke up, have a quick, polite bit of conversation, and let  _ Clarke _ take control of the evening. Lexa’s uneasy about working impromptu, but she trusts Clarke. 

It’s finally Lexa’s compulsion to be impeccably punctual that finally leads her to knock. A softer knock than usual, perhaps with a degree of nervousness, but a knock nonetheless. 

She counts the seconds afterwards, swallowed in the silence of the hallway. A car rumbles past outside, and Clarke doesn’t answer. She swallows again, butterflies fluttering wildly within her, before knocking again.

And yet, Clarke  _ still  _ doesn’t come to the door. 

Lexa’s nervousness turns to worry. They’re similar emotions, but subtly different. Naturally her mind goes to the worst-case scenario. 

What if Clarke’s been kidnapped? Caught in an accident? What if she’s sick, or trapped, or, or- 

Lexa has a key. 

Clarke gave her a key last night. 

Lexa fumbles around in her clutch for the small silver key, having already added it to her personal keyring. Most people don’t have a  _ personal _ keyring, but Lexa’s not most people. 

She pauses, Clarke’s key in hand, mere inches from Clarke’s lock. Rational reason holds her back; what if she’s just - coming out of the shower, and hasn’t heard her? What if she’s on the phone to someone else? This would be intruding, and Clarke probably wouldn’t take kindly to that - 

The butterflies say otherwise. Something doesn’t feel right. Clarke would have said something - she would have called, or come over earlier to let her know if she’d be held up by something. 

With a turn of the key, Lexa unlocks Clarke’s door, and gingerly leans into Clarke’s apartment. 

“...Clarke?” Lexa whispers. “I apologize for intruding - but-” 

There’s no response. Lexa can see the light of the lounge on, in its dull orange glow, but little else. She steps into Clarke’s apartment, closing the door quietly behind her. She sees Clarke’s boots at the door, and her stomach rises several inches. 

“Clarke?” Lexa whispers again, louder this time. “Clarke, are you in here?” 

Lexa slips off her own heels, and slowly pads her way into the lounge. She almost trips over a jacket, discarded in the middle of the room, and her eyes grow wide, a chill creeping up her spine. 

She doesn’t call out for Clarke again. Her heart is thumping in her chest, blood pounding in her ears, when suddenly she hears a faint noise from Clarke’s bedroom. 

_ Clarke. _

The door is slightly ajar, and it’s dark inside. Lexa would have had a thousand second thoughts crying against opening the door, if it were not for the muffled sound of what Lexa believed to be pain coming from within. 

_ Clarke! _

“Clarke?” Lexa says hesitantly, pushing open the door. “Are you okay…?”

Clarke’s muffled voice echoes from within. “ _ L-Lexa… _ ” 

_ Oh,  _ Lexa thinks to herself.  _ That’s not the sound of someone in pain.  _

Lexa’s eyes grow impossibly wide. All the butterflies in her stomach are dead killed instantly. 

Her stomach is a butterfly graveyard.  

Lexa gasps, hands clapping over her mouth. “O-oh,  _ fuck _ -” 

Clarke sits straight up. “Lexa!” She shouts, voice breaking. “W-what - what are you - here,  _ what _ -”

“I’m sorry!” Lexa groans. She doesn’t need to be told this time; she  _ knows _ how red her face has gone. “Fuck.  _ Shit - fuck,  _ I’m - I -” 

Clarke’s scrambling to cover herself beneath her sheets. “Y-you - what - is it five? Oh - shit, fuck, I’m so - so sorry -”

Lexa feels like her legs might give out from underneath her, when she finally urges herself to move. “I - I should go, I have to go - I’m sorry, I’m so  _ fucking _ sorry, I shouldn’t - I didn’t mean -” 

“W-wait, Lexa!” 

Lexa’s already rounded the hallway, when Clarke falls to the floor with a heavy  _ thump _ , tangled in her sheets. 

“I’ll - I’ll call you!” Lexa shouts from the front door as she slams it behind her. 

 

**On Clarke’s bedroom floor, sometime later...**

Clarke’s been lying on the floor for the better part of an hour now, still in shock. 

She can feel her heart racing, her mind numb and still struggling to comprehend the series of frantic events than had transpired mere moments ago. 

Well, it felt like mere moments ago. 

She feels bad for oversleeping. 

She feels bad for ruining Lexa’s plans for the evening.

For  _ their _ evening. 

She feels sore.  

She feels like laughing, like screaming, like burying her face into her pillow and never leaving her apartment ever again. 

And Clarke can’t get the lingering sense of embarrassment out of her head.

And Clarke definitely can’t get the image of Lexa’s wide, green eyes, dragging her gaze over every inch of her body, out of her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistency? what's that? continuity? never heard of it. 
> 
> THANKS FOR BEING SO PATIENT! I've had a thousand side-projects between chapter; so much for 2017 being the year of finishing fics. please don't ask me when the next chapter's going to come - you think I know? buddy i'm going to be the last person to know. 
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed it! i certainly loved writing it. please leave a comment! i mean only if you want to i guess i'm not your mum


	13. Little Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa talks to Anya, then Clarke talks to Raven, then Anya talks to Lexa, then Clarke talks to Lexa. Finally.

**A couple days later, at the gym...**

It’s just past lunchtime, and Anya’s in the gym. It’s a fairly modern locale in one of the larger towers in downtown Polis, high off the ground on the thirteenth level with glass windows that reach from floor to ceiling and packed with the latest machinery. She’s got her own routine - today, it’s going to be shoulders. She’s gotten cardio out of the way, and she’s halfway through her squats.

And Lexa’s there, so that’s something to take into consideration. Lexa hasn't asked to come to the gym with her in years, but Anya’s worried; Lexa looks like she’s about to pull a muscle. Anya watches as Lexa completes her set with vigorous exertion - If she keeps pushing herself like this, she’s definitely going to pull a muscle.

Anya sighs. “You’re going to pull a muscle.”

It’s also been a while since Lexa’s been in one of these moods; frustrated, angsty, and quietly introspective. She knows that Lexa just needs some time to simmer down from - whatever is causing this.

“I’ll be fine,” Lexa grunts, her face screwing up in concentration. “Stop worrying.” She hisses her exhales as she continues her set. Her knees wobble slightly from the weight, her knuckles going white as she grips the bar across her shoulders, but she manages to rack it without collapsing.

If only just. Lexa immediately doubles over, hands gripping her knees as her body shakes with heavy breathing, sweat damp against her tank-top. Anya rolls her eyes, and fishes a bottle of water from Lexa’s gym bag, passing it to her wordlessly. Lexa grabs it, nodding her thanks because if she opens her mouth, she’s probably going to throw up.

Anya doesn’t ask what’s wrong. If Lexa wanted to talk about it, she’d bring it up herself. It was putting a damper on Anya’s schedule though. She hadn’t exactly bet on having to spot Lexa _and_ sort out her own routine, on the one day that she actually had a schedule. She had places to be and people to see and yes, she knows Lexa doesn’t _want_ to be asked what’s wrong, but if she’s to stay on track Anya knows she’s going to have to deal with this sooner or later.

Because she loves her and all that.

“Alright, Lexy - give it up,” Anya says, throwing caution to the wind. “What’s wrong? Something’s obviously gotten under your skin.”

Anya doesn’t quite notice, due to how flushed Lexa already is from her set, but Lexa’s cheeks burn just a little bit brighter. Lexa makes a show of standing up straight, grabbing her towel hanging off the machine to dab at her arms, only to drop onto a nearby bench seconds later.

“N-nothing,” Lexa quips sharply in an obvious attempt to seem nonchalant. It doesn’t slip past Anya that Lexa’s clutching her side where a pulled muscle might be. “I haven’t… I’ve not been taking proper care of myself. I need the exercise.”

Anya stares deadpan at Lexa, who has the good grace to avoid the gaze. “Right - so why didn’t you just go to your regular gym?”

When Lexa doesn’t immediately respond, Anya rolls her eyes and turns to survey the rest of the gym to give Lexa enough time to make up an excuse. It’s empty for the most part, save for a couple of elderly ladies who are really giving it their all.

Anya’s impressed.

“It’s just -”

Lexa makes to start, but the words die as soon as they leave her lips. Anya turns back to watch her pseudo-sister with a raised brow - she’s not used to seeing her so tongue-tied.

“Christ,” Anya chuckles nervously, hands on her hips. She pulls her own towel from the machine and wraps it around her shoulders. “That bad, huh?”

Lexa’s grip around her bottle tightens. Anya can swear she can almost hear Lexa’s teeth grinding in frustration. Over the gym’s speakers, some terrible rave music blares on. It only lasts a few seconds before one of the older ladies rushes into the gym’s office to complain. The music dies a moment later, and Anya silently whispers a word of thanks.

“It’s - it’s completely stupid, Anya,” Lexa says, jaw clenched tight and flushed from over-exertion, among other things. “Juvenile, it’s - I - I just -”

Anya stifles Lexa with a raised hand. “Stop. Slow down.” She speaks sharply, kneeling in front of Lexa to meet her eyes straight on, hand resting calmly on her shoulder as she searches carefully for a clue swimming in the deep green. Lexa holds her breath, pouting at herself; Anya knows that it makes her feel like a child whenever she speaks to her like this.

“Is it work related?” Anya says slowly.

Lexa shakes her head.

“So it’s a personal matter then.” Anya hums, pondering. “Is it a medical issue?”

Again, Lexa shakes her head. She’s squirming in her seat - she’s being interrogated.

“Right. Financial?”

Nope. Anya frowns. She can’t quite figure out what else would be significant enough to warrant this sort of behaviour.

“Are… Are you in trouble? Danger?”

“What? No,” Lexa frowns, pausing. “It’s… It’s Clarke.”

At once, Anya’s entire body tenses up, eyes wide and sharp, aware. “ _What did she do._ ” She says coldly.

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Nothing, Anya. It’s - it’s not like that. She…” She sighs, taking a deep breath, making to stand. “I -”

Lexa doubles over as soon as she leaves the bench. She lets loose a sharp cry, hand clutched sharp against her side as she collapses back onto the bench, gasping in pain.

She’s pulled a muscle.

“Lex!” Anya groans, reaching forward to grab her arm. “I fucking told you - you pulled something, didn’t you -”

Lexa grimaces as the pain thrums through her, gingerly stretching from side to side. “Yeah, my - shoot, that _really_ hurts…”

Anya stares at her with a pitying frown. Lexa doesn’t have the humility this time to meet her eyes - instead she’s looking off across the gym at nowhere in particular, eyes watering slightly as she blushes at her own folly.

Anya sighs. “Lie down.”

“I’m fine -”

“Lie _down,”_ Anya repeats herself, curtly. She has a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, guiding her into a supine position along the bench. “Slowly, just - _slowly…_ ”

Lexa obliges albeit with a frown and a curious, hesitant glare, until she’s staring upwards at the ceiling only to jump as she feels Anya’s hands pressed against her side.

“Relax,” Anya tuts. “You’re going to hurt yourself more.”

“I _am_ relaxed.” Lexa mutters. “I didn’t - you hands are just cold, that’s all.”

But Lexa’s frown deepens, watching with cautious energy as Anya begins to knead against Lexa’s side.

“Stretch out - _slowly,_ ” Anya says, lifting a hand to guide Lexa’s body into a small twist. “Careful.”

Lexa sighs, eyes closed against the sensation of Anya’s hands pressing against her soreness. She squirms beneath Anya’s touch, lights and disembodied shapes dancing against her eyelids.

“Jeez, you’re tense.” Anya chuckles. “I thought you had a whole routine.”

Lexa’s face scrunches up as the soreness against her side subsides into a dull ache, as Anya’s hands move to her ribs. Her voice chokes slightly as she clutches her eyes tighter still.

“This is something yoga and meditation can’t fix,” Lexa mutters shakily, pressing the back of her head against the cushion of the bench, struggling to stem the wayward thoughts pouring into her mind.

Anya hums quietly as she finds the perpetrating muscle, kneading it with the ball of her palm. It’s enough to drive a soft rumble from Lexa’s lips, the soothing comfort carrying her away to somewhere distant. Lights flash against her eyes, and in the midst of drifting against the touch of skin, a bright flash of brilliant blue pierces her mind, eager, staring back at her -

Lexa gasps, sitting up with such force that she almost knocks Anya away. She’s struggling for breath, panting almost as hard as she was during her set.

“S-sorry!”

“Fuck, Lexa,” Anya grumbles, rising to her feet. “Okay, that’s it. I want answers, and I want them _now_.”

Lexa drops her head against the cushion of the bench, eyes closed. She sighs, and slowly lifts herself to sitting position. Anya takes it as a sign for her to slide beside Lexa, resting her elbows upon her knees.

“I… We had a date planned.”

Anya nods, grabbing her own bottle of water. “Right.”

Lexa swallows a lump in her throat, and soldiers on. “We planned to meet at 5PM. We _agreed_ on that.”

Anya pauses between sips of water. “So, what - was she late or something?”

“No, Anya - well, _yes_ , but,” Lexa frowns. “I - I walked over to her apartment at 5, and I knocked.”

“Okay.”

“Nobody responded. So - she gave me a key to her place, so I thought I’d just let myself in.”

Anya splutters, choking slightly on a sip. “Woah. That’s - okay,” Anya’s eyes flash wide. “That’s strange. Why didn’t you just ring her phone?”

“I - I don’t know!” Lexa spluttered. “I panicked, I suppose, and I - I just went inside.” She pauses again, jaw clenched. “It didn’t look like anyone was home, but I just wanted to check if she - I don’t know, if she was okay, I suppose.”

Anya rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe how much of a disaster you are. Nobody came to answer the door so you broke in and wandered around like a tormented ghost.” Anya snorts, but waves for Lexa to continue. “Okay, so - right, then what happened.”

The colour begins to drain from Lexa’s face. “I went to her bedroom.”

“Okay.”

“She was there.”

“O-okay?”

Lexa turns to Anya with wide, fearful eyes. “ _Naked._ ”

“Right,” Anya nervously half-chuckles, before struck by a sudden thought. “Wait, was there someone with her -”

“No!” Lexa hisses. “She was alone. _Naked,_ Anya! And she was - you know, she - it was a _very private moment!_ ”

“Right, so - oh,” Confusion and bemusement spreads across Anya’s face, before a sudden dawning strikes her. “ _Oh_ , right.”

Lexa groans as Anya’s chuckle picks up. “Exactly.”

“Right,” Anya says, inbetween confused bursts of laughter. “Right. Okay. So you - you interrupted her - her personal time.” She says, half-frowning, half-grinning, choosing her words carefully. “Lexy, that’s not - that’s not that big a deal.”

“I _know_ ,” Lexa hisses angrily. “I _know_ it’s not a big deal, Anya! God, this is what I - Like I said, juvenile, _pathetic_ \- it’s just - it’s just - _unbelievable - “_

In the middle of Lexa’s blurting rampage, Anya rests a calm hand on her shoulder. At once, Lexa pauses, silent once more and staring into her lap like a guilty schoolchild.

“So why,” Anya says with a carefully chosen tone of inquiry. “Is this a big issue for you?”

“I don’t know, Anya,” Lexa says, throwing her face into her hands. “It’s just - “

“For fuck’s sake, Lexa; breathe.”

Anya can hear Lexa’s jaw clenching, but she does as she’s told; she breathes. She pauses and lets her mind gather past all the embarrassment, all the humiliation, all the emotions that Clarke dragged back to her when she saw her, calling her name -

“I was terrified, Anya.” Lexa says slowly. “Petrified, like - Like ice was in my veins.”

Anya frowns. “Were you scared of Clarke?”

“Yes - no,” Lexa bites her lip. “I don’t know - I think, I think _maybe,_ in a way?”

Lexa slowly rises to her feet, shaking her head as Anya makes to help her. She strolls over to her bag, grabbing a towel to wrap it over her own shoulders.

“Do you know what was going through my head, Anya?” Lexa says, a weak, manic smile tugging at her lips as she dropped back beside Anya. “When I saw Clarke like that?”

Anya’s brow furrows. “I’m not too sure I want to hear this -”

Lexa rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “It was that - I hadn’t felt, or thought or - or anything like that, since - since -”

_Oh._

_Costia._

Anya didn’t need to hear Lexa say it. At that moment, it fell into place. Anya’s eyes grew wide, understanding flooding to her like waves crashing upon rocky shores.

“Hey, hey,” Anya said slowly, softly, arm wrapped around Lexa’s shoulders. “You don’t - it’s not -”

There was a moment, a brief, waiting moment of silence between them. Lexa looked to be a storm of emotions; self-pitying, pain, embarrassment and humiliation. Anya looked on in agony, the words she wanted to say a jumbled mess and empathy.

Anya paused. She breathed, like she had told Lexa to do, and spoke. Softly, at first. Carefully, choosing her words and speaking them with a delicate touch; Like a sister would.

“She’d understand." Anya said softly. "She’d want you to move on, Lex. You deserve to have relationships - to be happy, to be intimate with someone else. She’d _want_ you to be happy.” She gave Lexa a gentle squeeze, a slow rocking of shoulder against shoulder.

“I know.” Lexa said quietly, barely above a whisper. “I know, it’s just…”

They were in their own little world at that moment. I didn’t matter that they were sitting on a bench in the middle of a nearly empty gym in downtown Polis. They could have been in the middle of the French countryside, or overlooking the Grand Canyon, or staring back at the earth from their little campsite on the moon. All they cared about at that moment was each other.

“You think you’ll forget her?” Anya said, brushing the hair from Lexa’s face. “You won’t. It’s not fair on yourself to think that you will - it’s not fair to Cos to think that she can be replaced, and it’s not fair to Clarke to imagine her as just some replacement. But it’s okay, because you’re not going to do that. You’re not seeing Clarke as a way to just get rid of old memories - you’re making new ones, because you want to make new ones. I’ve seen you around this girl, Lex - you’re into her. Cos had a place in your heart, but you’ve got a big heart, Lexa. You’ve loved, and now it’s time for you to love again.”

Anya paused, thinking over the words she had said, and glad that she had said them. All she needed now was for Lexa to hear them and to understand what she was trying to tell her - what Lexa needed to hear. For a while, they sat in quiet peace, watching the city live their day through the gym’s glass windows. Clouds had come into the city, breaking the sunlight into beams to shine spotlights upon the fortunate few in the streets, who might just see the occurrence as divine.

Lexa cleared her throat, a trapped breath and a hesitant sniffle breaking the silence. “Thank you, Anya. You’re right. I’ll… we’ll work on that.”

Anya smiled, nodding. “Yeah.  And hey - You’ll be fine.”

Lexa nodded in return. “I know. I’ve… I’ve been avoiding her, I think.”

“So, talk to her then.”

Lexa nodded, dabbing at her eyes with her towel. She paused for a moment, before glancing around, as if her consciousness had returned them to reality. “I - I suppose we ought to finish our set, right?”

Anya clicked her tongue, pulling her phone out. _Yep, late._

“Actually, Lex - I’ve got stuff to do.” Anya said, rising from the bench.

“Oh.” Lexa frowned, watching Anya gather up her belongings into her bag sheepishly. “Sorry for keeping you.”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” Anya said glaring at Lexa. _That_ at least managed to eek out a hiccough and chuckle out of Lexa. Anya smiled, glancing down at her phone once more. “But listen - I’m planning on going out to Lincoln’s later tonight. You should join me.”

“Lincoln’s?” Lexa said, pausing in between gathering her own things. “I don’t know, Anya. You know how I feel about bars.”

“I’m insisting, sis.” Anya said, slapping Lexa on the bare shoulder. “Here - come back to my place, you can shower and get changed and chill while I’m sorting out stuff, then we can head out together. It’ll be good for you to get out of the apartment once in a while.”

Lexa frowned, rubbing her smarting shoulder. It would be a change of pace - maybe that would be just the thing to get her out of this rut.

“Okay, fine.” Lexa said, the regret already dripping from her tone. “But I’m leaving whenever I want.”

“Alright,” Anya laughed, as they walked towards the exit. “Alright! Fuck, this is going to be great. Just like old times!”

“Just like old times.” Lexa repeated, smiling nervously.

As they drove back to Anya’s apartment, the conversation drifted to other things. They spoke of work, of making plans to visit Gus and Indra, of old habits and new ones too. When they pulled up to Anya’s building, Lexa offered to get out at the front, but Anya insisted that she drive her into the garage.

Anya pulled up to the elevator, and tossed Lexa the keys to her apartment. As Lexa stepped out, she paused.

“Thanks,” Lexa said, leaning through the window. “For everything you said back there.”

Anya shrugged, flashing Lexa her winning smile. “Anytime. You know me.”

Lexa smirked. “Yes, I _do_ know you. That’s why it was actually kind of surprising - that was _way_ too deep for the Anya I know. Something’s softening you up.”

Anya’s smile wavered, a flush creeping across her cheek. “Yeah, well - maybe.” She chuckled. “It’s actually -  I didn’t mention it to you, but I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

Lexa tilted her head in intrigue. “A therapist?”

Anya cleared her throat, the mantle and guise of nonchalance and laid-back cool falling to pieces like chipped paint. “Yeah, Rae - _Raven_ said it’d be a good idea, you know. And it’s been pretty good - it definitely _feels_ good to get all of that out there.”

“Raven,” Lexa said, surprise tainting her syllables, eyes wide and smirk growing. “You’re taking life advice from her now? That’s interesting.” She bit her lip, a teasing thought crossing her mind like a shooting star. “You recall when you said you’d tell me if you two were getting serious? Well - are you?”

It was Anya’s turn to smirk into her lap, lips pouted and nodding. _Well played._

“Maybe, Lexy.” Anya said slowly, grinning. “Anyway - go get cleaned up, and don’t trash my place, you goddamn party animal.”

Lexa grinned, rolling her eyes. “I promise I won’t. See you in a bit?”

Anya nodded, flipping her shades back over her eyes. “Yup. Now get off my car.”

 

**Meanwhile, outside Clarke’s apartment**

Clarke's standing before Lexa’s apartment door, hand raised, heart racing a mile a minute, a small cardboard box full of freshly baked goods clutched tight at her side. She swallows her fear, and knocks on the door.

_Knock, knock._

She can hear the echo reverberating through Lexa’s apartment. She ponders for a second whether Lexa would have gone to the length to organise her apartment to maximize the sound of someone knocking on the door so that she’d be able to hear it from anywhere in the apartment, but Clarke dismisses that thought as ludicrous.

_But what if…?_

Nobody answers, anyway. Clarke sighs to herself, her heart sinking into her stomach for the millionth time. She lifts her hand to knock again, but she knows nobody’s going to answer.

_Knock, knock._

Of course there’s no-one home. Lexa’s either not been home or just plain ignored her persistent knocking for the last few days and because it’s Lexa, it’s felt like months for Clarke. At least Lexa hasn’t left her messages go unanswered.

Barely.

* * *

 

_[You, 9:51 AM]_

_Hey how’s it going? :)_

_[You, 9:54 AM]_

_Oops sorry_

_Forgot not everyone works from home_

_Hope I’m not bothering you at work_

_[Lexy (Lexa Woods), 9:56 AM]_

_Hello Clarke._

_No, it’s alright. I have my own office._

_[You, 9:57 AM]_

_Nice!_

_[You, 10:23 AM]_

_Anyway just wondering if you were free_

_After work I mean_

_We could catch up if you are?_

_[Lexy (Lexa Woods), 10:23 AM]_

_Sorry, Clarke, I have to work late today. Perhaps another time._

_[You, 10:23 AM]_

_Maybe grab a coffee?_

_Oh_

_[You, 10:26 AM]_

_That’s okay, raincheck :)_

_[Lexy (Lexa Woods), 10:26 AM]_

_(Read, 10:26 AM)_

* * *

Clarke sighs once more and steps away from the door. She glances down to the box of baked goods with regret; if she keeps this up, she’s going to eat herself to death. 

Clarke fumbles with her keys and shuffles back into her own apartment, dumping the box on the kitchen counter, next to all the others. She may be an artist, but she’s not exactly imaginative when it comes to fabricating reasons to visit a neighbour out of the blue.

“So,” Raven says, chirping up from the couch. “How’d it go?”

“No bueno.” Clarke replies, shrugging off her jacket. Why did she wear a jacket just to cross the hallway? Lexa’s gotten her all topsy-turvy, and it’s doing her head in. “She wasn’t home. She’s either avoiding me or taken up a thousand new hobbies that are keeping her out of the house.”

“Probably the latter.” Raven mumbles. She’s taken up residence on Clarke’s couch - something about her workshop being _too workshoppy,_ and needing _a space where she could just bum out and tinker._ Her prosthetic is splayed out across Clarke’s coffee table, a thousand nuts and bolts and springs and screws scattered like wedding rice.

Like wedding rice? Clarke has no idea why that imagery jumps to her head. She crosses the apartment and plops down beside Raven upon her squashy, misshapen couch.

Raven is marathoning Lord of the Rings on Clarke’s tv.

“Can you just kill me?” Clarke mumbles out of the blue. “Like straight up - just end my life.”

“Y’know,” Raven grunts, hardly glancing away from her work, tightening a bolt around the prosthetic knee. “I’d love to? But then who’s apartment am I going to crash five days out of the week? Who am I going to bum midnight burgers with? _How_ am I going to find someone else whose love life has provided such comedic -”

Clarke groans to drown out Raven’s last point. “C’mon, Rae.”

“I jest, Griffin. Close your eyes for a sec,” Raven slaps her makeshift welding mask over her head as she sparks a torch. Arclight dances around the apartment for a few seconds, illuminating the brickwork and exposed pipes. Clarke turns away, squinting eyes finding half-finished portraits hanging upon her easels. Her frown deepens. When Raven’s done she drops her tools to the floor, wiping her hands upon her tank-top in the process. She seems satisfied, and pauses the movie before slumping into the couch with Clarke, shoulder to shoulder.

“Why do you seek death, friend?”

Clarke pouts, her deep frown betraying her answer. “Lexa’s been avoiding me, I know it.”

Raven frowns, brow furrowed. “How do you mean?”

“She _hardly_ responds to the messages I leave her, she - she _never_ picks up my calls! I’ve knocked on her door every day and - noone. Nothing.”

“She does have a day job, y’know.”

“It’s Saturday.”

“Maybe she’s gone out?” Raven shifts in her spot on the couch to rest her head against Clarke’s shoulder. “Listen - don’t you think you’re reading a bit too much into this? She’s probably just super busy -”

“No,” Clarke sighs. “She’s definitely - I don’t know. Maybe she _is_ busy. But something feels… off.”

Raven hums pensively, pausing before speaking. “Do you think this has anything to do with -”

“Oh, no, don’t get me wrong,” Clarke blurts. “This has _everything_ to do with what happened.”

It’s in moments like these that remind Clarke how infinitely grateful she is for Raven. Sure, Raven almost split in two the first time that Clarke told her what happened. And the second. And the third as well. But after that, after Raven had laughed herself empty - well, the only thing that was left was earnest, heartfelt empathy.

“Right.” Raven said, clearing her throat. “Honestly though? I still think you’re overthinking this.”

“Really, Rae?”

“Yeah, I mean - c’mon.” Raven shrugged. “Who hasn’t walked in on someone playing a little 1v0 wrestling?”

Clarke snorted. “That’s - that’s gross.”

Raven smirked. “Uh huh, but it’s true. Don’t you remember?”

“Don’t I remember what?”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Don’t you remember?” Raven repeated, wiggling her eyebrows pointedly at Clarke. “Don’t you? Don’t you, Clarke? That _one summer break in high school, Clarke?_ ”

Clarke laughed hesitantly. “I - what,” She paused, eyes bulging wide. “Oh.”

* * *

 

It came back to her. In her mind, she could practically  _smell_ the freshly mown grass of the suburbs. Lawn sprinklers. Scorching hot pavement. The crappy sedan she used to drive that would, without fail, die three times a week on her way to school and back. The jerry-rigged doorbell of Raven’s house. The way that the door would always swing open with a horror-movie-esque creak. The way her voice would echo through those hallways, calling out to see if anyone was home. The worry that the ice cream in her car would melt before Raven was ready, and that she should have probably brought it in with her, but hey, she was going to be quick, right? 

Just pop into Raven’s house and pick her up so they could get going to the beach. That was the plan. Nobody was home, that’s fine. Raven’s probably just getting ready. Her door’s closed - strange. Raven? _Knock, knock._ Raven, are you ready? C’mon, I’ve got ice cream in the car, and - and - and -

“Woah - shit!”

“Hey - _what the fuck, Griffin?!”_

“Didn’t you hear me coming in?”

“I had my headphones on, pervert!”

“Per - _big fuckin’ talk, coming from you_!”

* * *

 

Clarke almost felt nauseous from being pulled back into the present from that long, distant memory.

“What the fuck, Raven!” Clarke groaned. “I had repressed the fuck out of that.”

Raven burst into laughter. “Why? It’s only weird if you make it weird, Griffin - and that was funny as _fuck!_ You should have seen the look on your face.”

Clarke snorted; the deep frown on her face twisting into a slightly forlorn grimace. “Great. Now you don’t have to kill me because I’m going to collapse in on myself like a dying star.”

Raven wiped a tear from her eye, sighing complacently. “Man, we were _dating_ at the time - surely that makes it a little bit better.” Raven said, sitting up in the couch to swing an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “Anyway, point is this; we’re still friends after - what, a decade? Fuck me, we’re old -”

Clarke furrowed her brow. “The math does not check out on that one, Rae. How are you _so_ bad at math -”

Raven shrugged. “Point is we’re still friends.” Raven paused, turning to stare deep into Clarke’s eyes. “We _are_ still friends, right?”

Clarke paused. “Yes?”

“Good, just checking.” Raven nodded, earning a snort from Clarke. “And look, as… _unique_ as Lexa is, I’m sure she’s more emotionally mature than a bunch of teenagers. I’ll bet you’ll go over there tomorrow and everything will be fine. She’s probably just got some super busy project at work or something, or visiting - well, not visiting family, I guess -”

“Raven!”

Raven raised her hands in protest. “Just saying she’s probably got stuff on!”

Clarke sighed again, sinking into Raven’s shoulder. “You… you’re probably right. I’m probably just freaking out a bit.”

“Maybe just a bit.”

“It’s just,” Clarke stammered. “It’s just been awhile, you know?”

“Heck yeah, Griff,” Raven gives a low whistle. “I can _tell_ you’ve been on a dry streak -”

“Not like that,” Clarke mumbles, elbowing Raven. “I meant like - since I’ve felt like… like this might _be_ something.”

Raven hissed. “Damn, Griffy. Sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

Clarke chuckled. “Yup, seems that way,” She shook her head, gazing out the window. “I just wish I knew what was going through that head of hers, you know?”

“Well, you’ve been on a date with her. She must have opened up at some stage.”

Clarke’s memory danced back to the night at the boardwalk. Lexa’s eyes swam to the surface of her mind - it made her heart skip.

“Yeah,” Clarke muttered. “She did. She was so… soft in that moment.”

Raven smiled “See? Look, she’s into you; That’s fuckin’ obvious. Just give it a little while and things will be back to normal before you know it.”

Clarke closed her eyes, sinking into the crook of Raven’s shoulder. A smile spread across her lips; cautiously, hesitantly, but it was there.

“You’re right, Rae.” Clarke hummed. “Thanks.”

“N’problems, Clarke.” Raven replied. “Raven Reyes, love doctor at your service.”

Clarke snorted. They fell into a moment’s pause, tangled up on the couch in each other’s arms with neither of them energetic enough to break the cuddle or unpause the movie that had remained patiently awaiting their attention throughout their entire conversation.

Clarke’s eyes fall to Raven’s prosthesis lying across her coffee table, a frown pulling at her lips. A pang of guilt shoots through her; Raven probably was making some serious adjustments, and here she was, just barging in with her own problems. Of course, this _was_ her apartment, but still - Clarke turned slightly to glance up at Raven; Her eyes were closed, but there were bags under them. She looked like she could fall into a deep sleep at any moment.

Clarke’s heart sank further. How long had this been going on? She’d been so busy ruminating about what were most likely imaginary problems that she’d been neglecting her closest friend. It seemed like every other day that she was talking to Raven about herself, and that not even once she’d asked how Raven was doing. Clarke was thankful for her, and whether unconsciously or consciously so, she tugged Raven into a tighter embrace, and spoke a silent word of thanks.

Raven, of course, had to break that silence.

“Uh, Clarke?” Raven smirked. “I know I’m fine as _fuck_ and that you’re touch-starved, but I’m spoken for.”

Clarke smacked Raven in the shoulder, earning her a cackling rebuff from Raven. She reached forward, unpausing the film so that there’d be something to fill the ambience other than paranoid thoughts.

Clarke cleared her throat. “So, how has your love life been, Dr. Love?”

“Excuse me, it’s the love doctor? I should get cards printed.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Clarke smirked. “You and Anya, is it - how’s it going?”

Raven shrugged. “Pretty well, I think.”

“Yeah?” Clarke inquired. “Getting serious?”

“Y’know what?” Raven smiled - a real, earnest, warm smile. “Could be.”

Clarke tried to hide her surprise but failed miserably. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Raven said, stretching out languidly. “I mean, we definitely are on the same page in the _boudoir -_ “

“Raven, please.”

Raven laughed. “But we’re doing dinner dates, and drinks after work, and brunch - brunch, by the way, is fuckin’ amazing. Have you - brunch? Brunch’d? Been to a brunch?”

“Have you met my mother?” Clarke responded drily.

“Right, anyway - that, and the whole thing.” Raven leaned forward, gathering up her tools again. “Most of its impromptu, like she’ll send me a message saying nothing more than _‘Movie?’_ and fifteen minutes later we’ll be outside the cinema. But that’s just how things work for us, y’know?”

Clarke hummed softly in acknowledgement, mind wandering as Raven returned to her work on her leg. It surprised her, to hear that Raven had found such a fast bond with Anya, but in a pleasant way. 

Clarke couldn’t help but swell with pride, but there had been a darker time in Clarke’s life following the accident that left Raven losing part of herself, that she’d look upon her friend with pity - and that made her stomach churn. Clarke hated that her mind would even tread upon that concept, knowing Raven, knowing her strength.

She knew that Raven was strong enough to live the way she wanted to despite it, and there was no greater respect that Clarke had for Raven because of that. _She doesn't need my pity_ , she would tell herself, but it took time for Clarke to relax around the subject. It still felt delicate, and that came from fear - fear of the complexity of the prosthetic and perceived fragility of the metalwork that supported her friend. What if she needed help? Clarke wouldn't even know where to begin.

But those dark days were gone. Shame had chided Clarke for doubting Raven for even a moment, and she’d sooner be caught again with her hands down her pants than for a second doubting her friend.

But that didn’t mean she could pretend it didn’t exist.

“Hey,” Clarke said, leaning forward to inspect Raven’s prosthesis. “Anything I can do to help?”

Raven hummed inquisitively, sifting through her pile of screws. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m already crashing your place, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Clarke said, leaning against Raven. “What’s wrong with it.”

Raven shot Clarke a sideways glance, mouth turning in the corners to a faint but recognizable smile.

“I just want to expand the brace a bit - it’s digging into my thigh and _that’s_ not really enjoyable.”

“Okay then,” Clarke said, rolling up her sleeves. “What can I do?”

“Alright,” Raven said slowly, looking around. “Drag my toolbox over here. You can hand me tools and shit.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, reaching over to Raven’s massive toolbox with a grin on her face.

“Hey,” Raven shrugged. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere right? Okay, so this thing here - this is what’s fucking my shit _up_ at the moment, so - hand me the pliers…”

Once, a long time ago, Clarke had worried that the accident would have left Raven's confidence in pieces. But Clarke listened attentively, pride and gratitude swelling up within her, thankful that Raven was just as bold and brave a person than she ever was. She was happy for her friend, and happy for what she had found.

And maybe she’d be able to find something like that was well.

 

**Hours later, at Lincoln’s…**

“Little Lexa Woods!”

Lexa jumps in her seat, almost sliding off her bar stool. Anya laughs, grabbing onto her to make sure she doesn’t tip over. Lexa glances up; a tall, bearded gentleman stands leaning over the bar, a leather apron fastened to his front with polished brass. He radiates a warmth that she’s not used to, a friendliness that reaches his eyes.

“And this is Lincoln,” Anya laughs. “Be nice, Lexy.”

“Nice to meet you.” Lexa nods.

"So formal," Lincoln laughs. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

It’s strange how his voice travels so sharply, despite the hum of the bar and its inhabitants; He doesn’t shout, but Lexa hears him clearly. In fact, the whole bar managed to exceed Lexa’s expectations. She had expected trashy neon, grease, leather, smoke and darts; Something befitting Anya’s outwards aesthetic. Perhaps she was being a bit harsh, but Anya had taken her to dives like that before. No, this place was something else; It felt like a cave - in a good way. The walls and ceiling were decorated with stonework facades with fairy lights and fixtures glinting between the cracks like sunlight pouring into an underground wellspring. It was cold, but a warmth radiated from vents below. The stools were made of some sort of recycled wood, aged and beaten but hardy nonetheless, and the counter-tops were cut from single pieces of granite and marble.

Lexa had to appreciate the juxtaposition. There weren’t that many people either, possibly because they had arrived shortly after 7, but Lexa had a sneaking suspicion that its select patronage was due to the fact that there wasn’t any signage on the street. Not even a bodyguard; like the stools, the door was made of recycled wood on brass hinges and had little more decoration than a sigil burned into it at about eye-level.

It was like their little secret in the heart of Polis.

“So,” Lincoln said, clapping his hands together eagerly. “What are we going to start with today? I’ve got some new stuff that I’ve been meaning to get some feedback on.”

Anya glances over to Lexa, who gives gives a half-shrug. “Sure,” Anya says. “Let’s give it a go.”

“Alright, won’t be a minute.” Lincoln said, shuffled along the bar, pulling elegant and curious bottles from the shelves to feed his nigh-alchemic craft.

Anya leaned over to Lexa, nudging her softly with her shoulder. “What do you think?” Anya said, apprehensive.

Lexa shrugged. “He seems nice.”

Anya snorts. “I meant about the bar.”

“It seems nice too.”

“ _Nice_ ,” Anya repeated, chuckling. “You know - for a writer, you’re not so great with words.”

Lexa grinned, rolling her eyes. “Sorry. No - it’s a great place, actually. I like it a lot. Thanks for bringing me here.”

Anya nodded complacently. “Any time. Like I said, you could use the night out, right?”

“You know what, I think you're right.” Lexa said, watching Lincoln muddling herbs and sugar cubes. “I could use this. Something to take my mind off of things.”

“Cheers to that,” Anya paused, realizing she had no glass beside her. “Well - in a moment. When Lincoln’s done with _our fucking drinks!”_

Lincoln laughed, flipping Anya the bird as he made his way back down the bar. “Can I get some patience, please?” Lincoln smirked, sliding four glasses between them. “Artistry takes _time._ ”

“You said a minute, Linc,” Anya teased. “Honestly a girl could die of thirst in here, I swear - “

“Alright,” Lincoln interjected, sharing a amused aside with Lexa. “House-shot with a whiskey highball chaser. Enjoy.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Anya said, taking up a shot and turning to Lexa as Lincoln hurried to service another customer. “So, Lexy - what should we toast to?”

Lexa followed suit, holding her glass and pondering. “The usual?”

A wide grin spread across Anya’s face. “To you -”

Lexa nodded, sporting her own. “To me. And you -”

“And me -”

“To both of us.”

“Free; as free can be.”

With sharp _tinkle_ and a single swig, both shot glasses were emptied of their amber contents. There was only a moment’s pause, before their faces scrunched up, their grins wavering.

“Strong,” Anya coughed. “Man, that does not go down easy.”

“No, it definitely does not.” Lexa frowned, a sour frown taking over and reaching for the chaser.

They shared a softer chime tapping the second glasses together. This was a more comfortable, warming landing; hints of honey and citrus and cinnamon over whiskey. They melted into the moment’s conversation, their worlds suddenly filtered through a quiet and warm buzz.

“Hey thanks, by the way,” Anya said halfway through a diatribe of modern journalistic practice. “For coming out tonight.”

Lexa shrugged, her cheeks painted with a soft pink hue. “Of course, Anya. I’m pretty good at coming out.”

Anya paused as Lexa smirked into her drink, waiting for the penny to drop. Anya’s eyes widened, with her lips curling into a bemused grin.

“Was that - was that a joke?”

“Anya, please -”

Anya burst into laughter. “That - that was _terrible!_ ”

Lexa blinked. “What?” She said, frowning. “I thought it was clever - “

“That doesn’t even make sense!” Anya said, face turning red from laughter and the alcohol. “There’s no - no set up! The whole joke and punchline is: I’m _gay_.”

Lexa snorted into her drink. “That _does_ sound like a pretty accurate joke right about now.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “C’mon, Lex - Is this because I called you a disaster? If so - I take it back, you’re _confident_ , and _sexy_ , and _smart_ , and -

Lexa blushed, swatting at Anya whilst breaking into a giggling fit. “Anya - Anya, _please_ -”

Anya shook her head, fending off Lexa’s flailing arms. “- and _cool_ , and _clever_ , and - and _totally_ deserving of anyone you choose. You know what, yeah - yeah! You could rule the _fucking_ world, Lexa!”

Lexa paused. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the music, the revelry that made her heart swell up. Maybe it was the presence of Anya, always so confident in Lexa’s mind, always so cock-sure and brave and bold and daring that left her at ease in every situation. Maybe it was the alcohol -

_It was definitely the alcohol._

Lexa felt a surge of assuredness; something that came infrequently, but was always appreciated. She nodded, the words echoing in her mind.

“You’re right, Anya.” Lexa nodded, pouting proudly. “I - I am!”

“Yeah!” Anya cheered, swinging her glass dangerously.

“We both are!” Lexa said, clapping Anya on the shoulder.

“ _Fuck yes_!” Anya shouted. People might have turned to stare, but they didn’t notice. “Oh man, it’s been too long since -”

“Lin - _Lincoln_!” Lexa shouted, swinging to face the bar, still riding a wave of euphoria. “Another round, _please_!”

Libation muffled inhibition, and the last thing Lexa remembered was the faint flicker of bemused concern passing over Anya’s face.

 

**A few hours later, at Clarke’s apartment...**

Clarke can’t remember the last time her apartment was so quiet. Usually the television is blaring something ridiculous, or the sound of the streets below is enough to fill the apartment, or Raven is there. Tonight, the streets are quiet, Clarke doesn’t want the television on, and Raven’s gone home.

It’s weird.

Clarke stares over her easel hesitantly, a wet brush and palette in her hands. Her makeshift lighting setup is hanging precariously from the exposed piping, but a slip from her knots could send a bulb and wire crashing.

She probably should double-check what her insurance covers.

Her paintbrush hangs less than an inch away from the canvas. It’s half-finished already; the beginnings of a panorama, the sea, cliffs, shrubbery, trees in the distance. A beach, a village, outlines, first coats, base coats, but little else. She doesn’t know what to do. Clarke sighs, and lowers her brush. Moments later, she washes it off, and beats it dry. She hovers over her palette; maybe a different colour would spark her imagination.

She knows it won’t.

How did it get this bad? Clarke glances to the other canvases, ones closer to completion. But the others are little more than base coats, sketches, or outlines themselves. Ideas that never really got off the ground or fell flat halfway.

Clarke shakes her head, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. She needs a fresh start. She sets her palette down on her counter-top, and unclips her canvas from her easel. She tears into a fresh one, mounts it, and finds a pencil to begin her sketch. Her hand hovers over the canvas once more, searching her mind and her heart for what to draw.

She knows what she wants to draw. It’s the only thing that she’s been thinking about for days. Weeks - months, even.

 _Ah, fuck it,_ she thinks, throwing caution to the wind. Maybe getting it onto canvas will flush it out of her system, and clear her mind. She settles into the satisfying sound of graphite on canvas, the scratching, the slow grind to smoothness, the gradients as the canvas files the graphite down to an edge. Clarke relishes in the craft and creation, until twenty minutes later, she takes a moment to step back and observe.

She’d recognize those eyes anywhere. A smile tugs are her lips, but she barely has another moment to relish in it, heart thumping with the possibility of inspiration, before her phone starts ringing. Clarke frowns, glancing over at her wall mounted clock before reaching for the phone. It’s almost midnight; who could be calling at this hour?

It’s an unknown number as well. Clarke accepts the call, if hesitantly.

“Hello?” Clarke says.

“ _Clarke_ ,” Anya’s voice is thick, hoarse, and possibly slightly frustrated, but unmistakable. “You there?”

“Is that - Anya?”

“Bet it is,” In the background, Clarke can hear the faint sound of music thumping, of laughter. Somewhere over the phone, a car honks in the distance, and Anya swears under her breath. “Listen up, a-are you home?”

“Yeah, why? What’s up?”

“Lexa’s gone,” Anya says, hiccoughing. “We were out, had a… a _few_ drinks, and then I went to the bathroom, and now she’s gone.”

“Okay,” Clarke says, frowning. She can feel her heart-rate increasing exponentially. “Have you tried her phone?”

Clarke hears a swishing noise, which she presumes to be Anya shaking her head. “She’s not picking up. Listen, I’m pretty _fuckin’_ gone, so I’m just going to crash right here -”

“Are you sure?” Clarke interjected. “I can pick you up if you want -”

“ _No,_ ” Anya interjects sharply. “I need you to check on Lexa’s apartment; text me if she gets home. _Do not call me, do you understand._ I’m gonna be knocked the _fuck_ out.”

“Right,” Clarke says, trying to sound confident. “I’ll let you know -”

“Super. _Peace!_ ”

The call cuts as abruptly as it started. Clarke places her phone upon the counter-top, trying to parse the conversation that just happened. She’s still staring into those eyes she’s sketched. _I wonder where -_

A loud thump and muffled cursing from her front door pierces her mind. Clarke jumps to her feet, snatching up her phone. She should be so lucky. Clarke peers through the peephole, breath hitching in her throat. Deep brown, tousled hair, a leather jacket, fumbling over the door opposite Clarke’s.

Clarke smirks, and breathes a sigh of relief. _That’s Lexa alright._ She quickly sends a message to Anya, _“She’s home. I’ll look after her”,_ before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway.

“Hey, Lexa.”

Lexa jumps spinning on the spot. Clarke can’t help but stifle a chuckle; she’s never seen Lexa quite so frazzled before.

“It’s _Clarke_!” Lexa announces to nobody, hastily stifling a belch and hiccough. “H-how… how are you?”

Clarke grins nervously; she's never seen Lexa this drunk before. She's surprised Lexa's even standing, to be honest, if she managed to go drink for drink with _Anya._

“Yeah, I’m… I’m good.” Clarke frowns. “How about you? Are you doing okay?”

Lexa swallows heavily, nodding and blinking asymmetrically. “Yes, I’m - I’m doing _very_ well, thank you for asking, Clarke. It’s just that - I seem to be having some trouble with my _keys…_ ”

“Oh?” Clarke says, leaning over to peek at Lexa’s door. “What’s wrong?”

Lexa frowns, holding up an empty keyring. “I seem to have lost them all.”

It tugs are Clarke’s heart to see Lexa squinting at her keyring, as if each individual key were hiding from her and that a stern look would conjure them again. Clarke laughs, but reaches forward to gently hold Lexa’s shoulder to steady a sway that was developing. .

“Hey, I think we can deal with that in the morning. You’re welcome to stay over here if you'd like.”

Lexa hums softly, eyes fluttering with sudden fatigue. “That’s very a-amicable, Clarke.”

Lexa stumbles her way into Clarke’s apartment, letting Clarke plop her down onto the stool by the doorway to unlace her boots. It takes a fair few minutes between the two of them - Lexa _does not_ want to stay still, and giggles every time Clarke curses Lexa’s intricate knot-work.

“Come on,” Clarke says, helping Lexa to her feet. “You can sleep on my bed, Lexa.”

“A-are you sure?” Lexa blinks awkwardly, fumbling over Clarke in an effort to steady herself. “I wouldn’t want to be an - an in-von-cenience.”

 _Oh my god you dork._ “No, it’s okay, Lexa.” Clarke says reassuringly. “I think you need a bed and a few glasses of water. C’mon, let’s get you, uh - let's get you lying down so you don’t fall over…”

Easier said than done; Lexa has the energy of a hyped toddler at the moment, and just about the same level of dexterity too. It takes a good amount of time steering Lexa into the bedroom, making sure she doesn't trip over Clarke's piles of laundry and painting supplies in the process. After a while, Clarke manages to breathe a sigh of relief, when Lexa finally throws herself onto Clarke's bed, only to shoot straight back up onto her feet. 

“Wait, _Clarke_ ,” Lexa mumbles, rummaging around her pockets. “I need to - to brush my _teeth_ first. Dental hygiene is _paramount…_ ”

Clarke’s frown deepens. “I don’t think you’ll find a toothbrush in your pockets, Lexa.”

Lexa shrugs. “It’s worth a look, Clarke. Have you looked in my pockets?”

"No?"

Lexa snorts. "Then how do you know there's not a toothbrush in my pockets? 

Clarke sighs to herself, and begs Lexa to sit down while she finds a new toothbrush from her hall cupboard. Twenty minutes later, Lexa’s finally agreed to lie down in Clarke’s bed, with minty fresh breath.

“Do you need extra blankets?” Clarke says, effectively tucking Lexa in. 

Lexa shakes her head, eyes already closed and smiling complacently.

“Alright then." Clarke says, patting Lexa's shoulder and making for the door. "I’ll be right out here if you need anything - “

“Clarke?”

Clarke turns to see Lexa staring at her, deep green eyes searching for something she can’t quite find.

“What’s up?” Clarke says, pausing by the door. “Need some more water?”

“No, I -” Lexa swallows, eyes fluttering and a red flush filling her cheeks. “Can you - can you stay for a moment?”

Clarke pauses, before smiling warmly. _She’s so soft._ “Sure.”

Clarke moves to sit beside Lexa, watching with affectionate gaze as Lexa shuffles over to make room. Clarke sits in silence for a while, waiting for Lexa to drift off so she can get her own sleep. Clarke doesn’t realize how tired she is, and it’s only now that it all hits her at once. Not just of this night, but the stress of worrying about Lexa, about her paintings, it’s all washing over her now.

But in another sense, it’s almost as if acknowledging it is soothing the tension, the pain, the weariness. Clarke stares out her bedroom window, a clear moon hanging in the far distance, shining moonbeans through the night from behind thin clouds.

Clarke smiles to herself, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Lexa.

“What are you smiling about?” Lexa muses quietly.

Clarke shrugs. “Nothing. Just feeling happy at the moment.”

Lexa hums, bundling herself tighter in Clarke’s covers. She waits for a moment, words hanging from her lips, before speaking.

“I think you have a lot to be happy about, Clarke.” Lexa says. “You’re a good person. You deserve it.”

Clarke laughs softly. “Thank you, Lexa. You do too.” Clarke rests a hand on Lexa’s shoulder, if only for a second. Her smile lingers only for a moment, turning thin as thoughts pierce her mind. She wants to ask Lexa a question, but she’s not quite sure if now would be the best time. Lexa’s still shaking off the buzz - but Clarke really needs to know.

“Hey, Lexa,” Clarke says softly, delicately. “Can I ask you a question?”

Lexa hums quietly again. “You may ask me any number of questions, Clarke. I am your open book.”

“Alright then,” Clarke chuckles, before taking a deep breath. “I just - you don't know to answer this if you don't want to, but... have you - have you been avoiding me?”  

Clarke winces as the words echo around the silent bedroom, flitting through the window to sink into the deep night sky. She fumbles with the hem of her t-shirt, waiting for Lexa to make an excuse to leave.

The moment doesn’t come. Instead, Clarke jumps as she feels Lexa’s hand slide into hers. She glances over to see Lexa staring up at her with apologetic gaze.

“I-I _have_ ,” Lexa says slowly, and Clarke’s heart sinks into her stomach. “And I’m sorry, Clarke. I… I’ve been childish. It was a… very confronting moment for me.”

Clarke pouts. “It was a pretty confronting moment for me too.”

Lexa's laugh is interrupted by a hiccough under her breath. “I very much like you, Clarke.” She says quietly. “But it’s been so long since I’ve been in a relationship, and I was scared. I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do. But that wasn’t… fair on you to just ignore you, and hope that it would just go away. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Lexa.” She said, giving her hand a soft squeeze, her heartache lingers, but she knows that this conversation wasn't going to be clean. _I'll be fine_. “I get it. I mean - maybe not all of it, but I’m working on it. And maybe, I can help - in any way that I can. I... I really like you too, Lexa.”

“Thank you, Clarke.” Lexa said, her eyes fluttering shut once more.

Clarke smiled softly to herself; she had gotten an answer. Sure, it might have confirmed her suspicions, but she worked it out. _They_ worked it out, and now they could move on. But Clarke had a feeling that Lexa was close to the edge now - There was a sleepiness in her tone that spoke of a peace of mind, a soothing of her soul. Maybe Lexa had been feeling the stress too, and like her, Lexa's was eased too.

Or maybe Clarke was just delirious at this point. She chuckled to herself and gave Lexa's hand a gentle squeeze, just to remind her that she was still here. Clarke made to slide off the bed, only to feel Lexa’s hand holding her tight.

“Lexa?” Clarke whispered. “It's okay, I'm going to be just outside -”

“Stay,” Lexa mumbled softly, barely audible. “If you’d like.”

Clarke paused, biting her lip, “Are you sure?”

“If I change my mind, I’ll let you know.”

Clarke chuckled. “Alright then, Lexa. Go on - Scoot over a bit.”

Clarke would forever remember her favourite sound; Lexa’s steady breathing and her soft hums of comfort as Lexa nestled into the crook of her neck. She would remember the smell of her shampoo, faint and distant, and the immeasurable warmth radiating from her body. 

Like Lexa, sleep came to Clarke quickly; the quickest it had ever come.

 

**At a cafe, next morning…**

Clarke’s phone squealed as she received a new message.

* * *

 

_[You, 12:26 AM]_

_She’s home. I’ll look after her_

_[Anya, 10:26 AM]_

_Og good. BTW can u let lex know ive got like a hanful of hey keys in my pcoket i tink. L8rs_

* * *

 

“Uhh… Order for Clarke Griffin?”

“Yep, over here.”

“One latte, four sugars, and an americano?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“You’re welcome; have a nice day.”

Lexa was clutching at her temples, wincing at the sunbeam that fell across their table despite the sunglasses she had borrowed from Clarke, who had in turn borrowed them from Raven. Her hair had begun to curl; Lexa had insisted on not heading out until she had a chance to shower, but Clarke managed to convince her by remarking that she still looked as gorgeous as ever. Clarke slid Lexa’s coffee across the table, which was readily welcomed by Lexa as she practically gulped the entire beverage in one go.

“Thank you, Clarke,” Lexa said, voice hoarse and broken. “I really - I’m sorry for barging in on you last night - “

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Clarke said, blowing over the top of her own sickeningly sweet coffee. “You’re welcome to crash at my place any time.”

Lexa smiled. “Thank you, Clarke.” She said, reaching over to slip a hand into Clarke’s. "And I know that - well, you just said it, but I wanted to apologize for how I've been acting in the last few days, too, so -"

Clarke shook her head, squeezing Lexa's hand. "It's okay. I get it. Don't worry about it." 

Lexa paused, biting her lip, a soft smile on her lips. "Thanks." 

Clarke tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Hey, it's only weird if you make it weird, right?" 

Lexa laughed, a softness resting upon her shoulders. She paused for a moment, before speaking. 

“I… I really, _really_ like you.” Lexa says, brow furrowing, chuckling softly. "Did - I said that last night already, didn't I?" 

Lexa’s smile warmed Clarke more than the sunbeam, more than the coffee. “You did - but that's okay. I really, really like you too, Lexa.” Clarke said, smiling back. Her smile turned to a smirk. “Hey, maybe you should leave a spare key with me too. Just in case you lose all your keys again. I promise I’ll knock.”

Lexa gave a nervous chuckle, blush creeping past her neck as she sipped at her coffee.  

Maybe they were doing okay.

Maybe they were great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuck me it's been a hot minute hasn't it. i've been ridiculously busy with work for the last few months, but now i've switched jobs and found a lot more free time! so enjoy this gargantuan 9k word update, hope it's all good because heck if i can't remember how i've characterized everyone. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment if you'd like to!  
> citriic.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ! More of a train of thought story rather than substance.
> 
> Citriic.tumblr.com


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